too late for love
by unexpectedrevelations
Summary: Call it empty. Call it tragic. You may even dare to call it fate. But it is what it is, and I will choose the way I tell it./My tale of the summer of 2003- the last three months of ManfredZelda. Multi-chapter. ManfredZelda. Maybe a brief AsaOC.
1. waiting for a happening

Author's Note: This is a multi-chapter to be of the last summer—my attempt to stay canon and still be minutely entertaining. The last summer when Asa, Manfred, and Zelda are all together—before the "math college" (which, I think, was a TOTAL cover-up) and the Idith/Inez/Joshua/Dagbert invasion. In this, Asa, Manfred, and Zelda have graduated Bloor's (even though Billy says that Zelda is 13 years old in Midnight for Charlie Bone, I think his source of information was rather misguided. Probably Asa or something) and they are going on vacation—sounds overdone, I know, but it's never been done with my trio before and this story is not merely for fun. This chapter is the next to last day of school, when they form the plan. Note—it's best to read the part when Billy is delivering the message super-fast and with no breaks. Imagine a little boy trying to utter a very, _very_ long run-on sentence in one breath, and when he finally stops talking at the end of each paragraph, insert a dramatic, rather ragged intake of breath. It made the editing experience all the more interesting for me.

Disclaimer: I do not own Charlie Bone.

* * *

**waiting for a happening**

come with me

reach out; take my hand

and we'll run far, far away from here.

well?

are you coming?

_--and I was too late for love--_

* * *

"Pass me the pretzels, will you?" Manfred Bloor sits ramrod straight against a gnarled crabapple tree and almost-reaches up to the lowermost branch. A katydid trills in a musical thrum somewhere in the distance and Zelda wordlessly sends the crumpled cellophane bag floating down to Manfred. She is perched on a thick, stumpy branch, her black hair pulled back in a messy braid. She sucks on a cherry Popsicle that is melting faster than she can eat it and mulls distractedly over a dog-eared copy of _Romeo and Juliet. _

Manfred casts aside his heavily highlighted manuscript of _Hamlet_ and licks the salt off a pretzel contentedly. Zelda groans and averts her eyes from his long sleeved shirt, black dress pants, and black dress shoes. And the thick purple wool cape. Especially the cape. He raises one eyebrow at her. "What?"

Zelda groans again. "You're making me hot," she says, fanning herself with _Romeo and Juliet._

Manfred grins. "Don't I always?"

"That's not what I meant and you know it. Why don't you wear something more suited to the weather?" Zelda gesticulates at her modified uniform: the rolled-up sleeves on her button-down shirt and hitched-up skirt, minus the stockings, shoes, and cape, which lay in a pile a few meters away. "Look at Asa! Wear what he's wearing and be comfortable. You certainly don't look it right now." The two momentarily abandon their conversation and watch Asa, who is turning cartwheels amid the dry grass in nothing but his black pants.

"I'm comfortable," Manfred frowns. "90 degrees is not hot, you know."

"I know you don't think so. But I happen to, so please, please, PLEASE take off the cape at least."

"Would you rather I wear nothing at all?" Manfred casts a lascivious smile up at her.

Zelda rolls her eyes exasperatedly. "Now is not the time for that. Tomorrow's Friday, our LAST DAY of school in this…" She racks her brain for an appropriately degrading phrase.

"Hellhole," Manfred supplies helpfully.

Zelda, her Popsicle finished, sets the stick on the air and stares at it. In a moment, it snaps in two and she lets it drift to the ground. "That'll do. But we have one last final tomorrow and I'm concerned about our ability to pass it."

"Our?"

"Alright, Asa's," Zelda sighs dejectedly. "Honestly, I don't know why I even make the effort with him. You too! Remember that Calculus studying fiasco this weekend?"

Manfred scowls. The Calculus final is something he'd rather forget. He sneaks a glance up at his girlfriend, then hurriedly changes the subject. "C'mon, Zel, relax! The graduation ceremony's over, prom is over, finals are almost over… It's summer. Forget about Asa's grades and… well, with any other person I would say 'enjoy yourself' but since you're Zelda…"

Zelda sends Manfred's book shooting back into his lap. "Read. Now," she commands, then calls out, "Asa! Get over here!"

Asa turns one last cartwheel, then bounds over to the pair, running crooked as if he is slightly tipsy. He shakes the dizziness away with a jerk of his head, then flops down onto the grass, picking a dandelion. He holds it to his mouth and lazily blows away the silvery fluff.

"Asa, here's a study guide I made for you." Zelda hands down a thick sheaf of paper held together by a large, official looking black binder clip. Asa groans and covers his face with his hands.

"No, no, no, I can't study right now, it's such a beautiful day, nononono," Asa moans in protest.

"You have to study. It's important that you pass this one, at least."

Asa draws himself up, perching on his elbows. He twists his head to look at Zelda and squints in the sparse-but-still-rather-blinding sunlight that permeates the leaves of the tree. "Zelda, we have one final left. ONE. And it's in British lit, for God's sake! That's fucking Shakespeare, do you realize that? Why are we wasting our time studying for it?"

"Because apparently performing _Midsummer, Hamlet, _and _The Tempest _this year did absolutely nothing to hammer the information we need to have learned by, oh, tomorrow morning, into your thick head." Asa glowers at Zelda's bluntness.

Asa scans the study guide. "Ohhhh, it's all _King Lear_ and _Macbeth_ and I can't read it, I can't. Why couldn't it be _Twelfth Night_?" He removes the binder clip from the papers and throws them across the grass, where they settle like great white birds, fluttering slightly in the wind.

"If it were _Twelfth Night_, you'd be whining about how you wished it were _Midsummer_," Manfred says dryly. Asa snickers and so does Manfred. They both abruptly stop when they notice Zelda's glare. Manfred's face is a mask of seriousness but Asa's lower lip twitches madly in effort.

"What's the use?" Zelda screws up her face and shuts her eyes, leaning against the trunk of the tree. "If you want to fail, be my guest."

"It's nearly three," Manfred says, glancing at his watch. "Why don't we go down and see what's in the mail? I want a break."

Zelda hisses through her teeth but ultimately relents. She jumps down from the branch, wincing when her feet meet the imminently solid ground. "Let's go, my almost-slackers," she says, taking Manfred's hand and beckoning to Asa. The three make their way across what could, in a normal suburban outcropping, be called 'the backyard', through the garden, and across the courtyard to the front entrance, where a rusty mailbox waits.

Asa tugs the metal door open with a creak. "What are you two expecting to find? It'll just be bills and advertisements and a couple more of those 'Dear Miss Dobinski, we are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted to… fill in the blank with the university of your choice' letters."

Manfred stiffens and Zelda pulls her hand away from him. She knows that he wants her to stay at Bloor's and become a student teacher with him—he's asked her several times—but she doesn't understand why he would want to stay at Bloor's himself. He had always complained about how he hated it, how he couldn't wait to leave—until the fall of their senior year, when Zelda began to fill out her college applications. The complaints had abruptly stopped, and Manfred had begun to work overtime at his unofficial job—working for his family, the Bloors.

Asa already has plans to go to London next year to 'explore the real world'. Zelda doesn't know what he will do there, but she is hoping that it will be something so entertaining-slash-amazing that she and Manfred will be forced to move out there to do it with him. This plan will only work, however, if Asa graduates; and she has her doubts about that. And she knows whatever he will be doing in London is more likely as not to be waiting tables at a ritzy café or spinning tunes for a smoky club. And so she has been forced to accept that Manfred one day be headmaster at Bloor's.

"Which school are you going to, anyways?" Asa asks, taking a stack of mail out and beginning to sift through it.

"Oxford, I think," Zelda answers. Manfred's head goes down and he walks away from them to stand by the road and watch a lone silver Honda pass by.

"Bills, bills, bills…" Asa mutters. Zelda isn't listening. She looks worriedly over to Manfred, but doesn't go to him just yet. Asa continues. "Ah, Manfred, here's your Playboy magazine!"

"Let me see that!" Zelda whisks the glossy magazine out of his hands. "Asa, you complete asshole," she chastises as she is left staring down at a Kingdom's catalogue ad, featuring a pink-iced cupcake studded with silver sprinkles. Manfred appears at her shoulder and peers down at it, shaking his head and grinning ruefully.

"Knew that'd get your attention," Asa remarks, coming at last to the bottom of the stack. "Here's a very personal looking letter to a Mr. Manfred Bloor…" He attempts to crack open the heavy parchment envelope with his bitten fingernails.

"Thank you," Manfred snatches the envelope. He struggles with the sealing, then finally rips off one side of the envelope instead. "Damn, you need a letter opener for these things." Nimbly withdrawing a thick sheaf of paper, he unfolds it to reveal thin, spidery handwriting slanting across the cream-colored page.

"Read it aloud!" Asa prompts excitedly. Manfred clears his throat dramatically, and begins to read.

"'_Dear Master Bloor,'" _he reads. At this, Manfred is cut off almost immediately.

"Ooooh, someone's formal," Asa snickers. Manfred gives him a look and continues.

"'_As you know, Yolanda met her untimely demise less than a month ago. We appreciate your family's support during this difficult time.'" _

"C'mon, c'mon, get on with it!" Asa presses.

"Shhh. It must be from Yorath," Zelda adds as an aside.

"Must be," Manfred agrees. He continues, _"'She made her intent to include you in her will clear to me soon before she passed. This must be attributed to your friend Asa's great kindness to her during her time at Bloor's. I regret to inform you that your father was not mentioned in the will, for reasons unbeknownst to me. Enclosed is a check for $5,000. I know that it is a paltry sum, but I do encourage you to spend it wisely. _

_Sincerely yours, _

_Yorath Yewbeam'" _

"Excellent!" Asa whoops, grabbing the envelope and withdrawing the check. "Five thousand dollars… what we couldn't do with five thousand dollars!" The three continue the conversation as they make their way back to the crabapple tree.

"We can't pay for a car, for one," Manfred says. "No, I can't have money to buy one, I have to inherit it! Damn him, the bastard, the…" He lets loose with a string of almost unintelligible curse words, making Zelda giggle and Asa grin.

Zelda smirks. She has something coming, and she has been waiting to let it loose. " 'Great kindness'?" she asks. "What might Yolanda have been referring to, hmmm?"

"I've definitely heard some rumors," Manfred puts in. "But what exactly did you do with her, eh?" He raises his eyebrows expectantly, while Asa elbows Zelda in the ribs, hard. Zelda shrieks in mock pain and Manfred reproves him with a, "None of that!"

"God, you're overprotective, you lovesick sap," Asa grumbles. "You just love playing the gallant hero, the Prince Charming… it's disgusting."

"I like it, anyways," Zelda says defensively. "And stop changing the subject. Do tell us all about you and… Belle, shall we say."

Asa stuffs his hands in his pockets and drops his head, turning almost as red as his hair. He mumbles as if his mouth is full of marbles, "We just did a bit of… snogging and…" He cuts off abruptly when Manfred doubles over, howling with laughter. Asa releases a feral snarl and says defensively, "Well, she was _hot, _y'know? What would you've done?"

Even Zelda is in stitches, hiccupping softly as she recovers from her bout of laughter. "But she was over a hundred years old, Asa! Didn't you think about that when you two were… oh, I can't even say it!" Zelda giggles again.

"Look, if Zelda were a hundred, and if she were in the 'shape' she's in right now, would you snog her?" Asa demands. Manfred chuckles again.

"Zelda's not a hundred, Asa!"

"But say she was…"

"God, I don't know! How the hell does this even relate to the matter at hand?" Manfred folds his arms and wrinkles his brow, his black eyes flashing. Zelda whirls.

"Are you insinuating that you wouldn't kiss me if I were a hundred?"

Manfred is taken aback. "No, no, that's not what I meant, Zel, because you aren't a hundred, you know," he stutters. Zelda feigns offense and, sticking her nose in the air, flounces away, prompting Manfred to pursue her.

"Zel!" he calls in almost-desperation. Asa looks rather relieved. Manfred dashes after Zelda and grabs her arm.

"If that's how you really feel about me, then so be it," Zelda says rather primly. "After all, there's nothing I really need from you, is there? I'm certainly not seeing anything in this relationship that's hold—"

Manfred silences her with a rather long and passionate-looking kiss. He knows that she likes to be dramatic, and also knows the right ways to shut her up. He pulls away roughly and nips Zelda's ear, drawing back to look her full in the face. Zelda, looking slightly dazed, blinks owlishly up at him. "Well, I suppose there's that, isn't there…" She trails off and grabs Manfred's face, kissing him again. Asa makes retching noises until the second kiss, which is quite noticeably longer than the first, commences.

Zelda, high spots of color in her face, takes Manfred's hand and suggests: "Why don't we go in now? I don't really believe that we're going to get any more studying done tonight."

Manfred smirks, looking pleased. "Excellent idea." Asa snorts. They have reached the tree now; Asa grabs the box of melted Popsicles and the empty bag of pretzels; Manfred, the five-odd volumes of Shakespeare; and Zelda, grumbling under her breath, begins to telekinetically gather up the sheets of loose paper strewn about the lawn.

"Don't I deserve any thanks?" Asa queries, leering at Manfred and Zelda, who look anxious to go inside and rid themselves of his presence so they can get some 'work' done.

Zelda snaps her gaze over to him, then, her lips curving into a smile, says, "Oh, yes. Your action with Yolanda did get us the five thousand. I suppose that does merit some gratitude. So, thank you for screwing with an old hag."

"Hey!" Asa shouts.

"Calm down, both of you," Manfred says. "The important thing is, what are we going to do with the money?"

"I'm thinking a road trip," Asa says.

"We could go to Carthrow castle!" Manfred exclaims. When the others look at him questioningly, he continues, "It's one of the estates we have—first belonged to Lilith, I think. It's only about seven hundred miles away, at most. Mother and Father and I used to go there all the time when I was a kid. It's really pretty, and not too big, and it's right on the beach, it's amazing in the summer…" He trails off, caught up in his reminiscing.

"We don't have a car, genius," Zelda reminds gently. "Although that is a really, really good idea. I suppose…"

"What is it?" Manfred demands. There is an almost-scary obsessive blaze in his eyes that prods Zelda into answering.

"Well, if we could be packed by tonight—and Manfred, bring a road map, and Asa, do bring your camera—we could swing round to my place tomorrow after study hall in the King's room and borrow Daddy's car," she says. "He'll be passed-out drunk on the sofa anyways; he'll never realize it's gone until he runs out of booze."

Asa looks nervous. He looks from Manfred, whose eyes are gleaming dangerously, to Zelda, whose eyes are downcast. She chews on her lower lip and fidgets with the clasp on her necklace. Asa clears his throat. "I don't see why not! Let's plan to be all packed by tomorrow, and then we can leave as planned." He gives them all a too-cheerful grin.

"But Father won't let us go," Manfred says angrily.

"So?" Zelda's lip curls in disdain. "We'll just get out before they even know we're gone. Maybe we could even get Billy to create a diversion, if worse comes to worse."

"Good." Manfred lets out a long breath. "I'm dying to get out of here. This summer's going to suck some major—"

Asa lets loose an obnoxious and obviously fake cough, covering Manfred's next words. Turning round, Manfred and Zelda spot Billy Raven trotting across the grass to them. "What's with you, Raven?" Manfred barks.

"Manfred, try not to be too… strict. It's not as if he's Torsson or Vertigo, you know," Zelda admonishes while Billy is still out of earshot.

The boy skids to a halt, breathing hard and looking at Manfred nervously. "Come on boy, out with it!" Manfred orders. Billy gulps air, then starts in on his message, babbling like a loon. Zelda cringes, wishing Manfred had spared them the ordeal and saved Billy some breath.

"Cook says it's almost dinner time and it's your three's day to help set and clear, and she says that if you get in there on time for once—hey, I'm just repeating what she told me! She said to repeat it exactly! Anyways, if you get there on time, she has some chocolate cookies that she made for me 'cause you know I love chocolate and she says it's a treat for maybe finally finishing first year but she has a few extra and she said to say she knows Zelda won't eat many so there'll be about ten left for you two and—"

"Mmmm, I like the sound of that," Asa purrs, almost salivating. Billy gives a hopeful grin.

"And?" Zelda asks. She can tell by Billy's face that he has something more coming.

"Um, so, I was walking to the bathroom during English because Mr. Carp said I could go—"

"I don't care what Mr. Carp said you can or can't do," Manfred snaps. "Let's get this over with."

Billy starts up again. "—and I finished going to the bathroom and washed my hands, and I thought to myself that I should get a drink of water only the nearest water fountain is in the drama wing so I walked down there. And while I was there, I got my drink and then I noticed this classroom full of seniors and then Lydia Pieman walked out of it and said she had a message for," here Billy paused for a breath and pointed his finger, "you three. Well, actually she said it was mostly for Manfred but I decided she meant you two as well."

"Oh, God, here we go again…" Zelda moans in disgust. Manfred looks rather bemused at her reaction, but decides to let it pass.

"What exactly is it that you have to tell us?" Billy looks at Manfred for consent, then barrels on. Asa snorts in amusement. This was getting interesting.

"She reminded me that she was a prefect and all, and then she said that you three aren't allowed to be outside during study period. And she said that you," Billy gestures to Manfred, "needed to help her study for the British lit final since you were in _Midsummer_ as Demetrius and she was Helena so apparently that qualifies you as a teacher or something." Billy furrowed his brow, trying to remember the last part. Suddenly, he brightened, and he smiled while saying the last bit. "Oh, and Blessed says that Mr. Ezekiel wants his mail now and that he saw you three get it already."

Zelda looks ready to boil over. "Are you quite finished?" Manfred asks curtly.

"Yep, that's all," Billy says proudly. "So, shouldn't we go in for dinner now?"

"Okay. We'll come in a second. First, though, we've got something to discuss." Billy sits down on the grass, ready to listen to Manfred's proposition. He knows that he can't be in trouble, though. Manfred's face is too kind-looking at the moment for that. _He probably needs me to give Lydia a message back, _Billy thinks.

"What the hell was she… conceited, over-imposing bitch… I'm head girl! We're allowed to be outside during study period! What the… what the…" Zelda is growling in fury; stray twigs sporadically fly into oblivion with every furious toss of her head.

Manfred takes this little speech into account. "Tell Lydia that she doesn't have any right to order us around, because we're head boy and head girl and what we say goes."

"Don't forget to mention the werewolf that could rip her pretty little head off," Asa says. Billy swallows hard, looking stunned.

"Okay…"

Manfred chooses to ignore this. "Also that there's no way in hell that I'm helping her study. Here's the mail. Give it to great-grandfather." After a cursory glance from Manfred, Asa thrusts the thick pile into Billy's waiting arms—sans the envelope, of course. "Now, the important part. You see, Zelda, Asa, and I have a little errand we need to run tomorrow night at eight thirty."

"Isn't that when we're all dismissed for the year?" Billy asks.

Manfred nods assent. "But there's a slight problem. My father won't let us run this errand if we tell him about it in advance. So we need you to keep tabs on my father, my great-grandfather, and the matron, and if you do this right, all three of them will be none the wiser until we… return," Manfred says. "You'll do this by deploying Blessed and that disgusting rat you keep around, of course. If, however, they do discover what we're up to, you _will_ do everything in your power to keep them from following us. And if you do this all correctly, when we get back you will be heavily rewarded."

"Okay," Billy agrees, nodding. "What'll the reward be?"

"You can go home with anyone you'd like, anytime." Manfred smiles in satisfaction.

"I can already do that." Billy's red eyes narrow.

"Then if you don't do it right, I will take that privilege away. And there's one last thing," Manfred says, pausing for effect. "You will not, under any circumstances, repeat any part of the conversation that just took place to anyone, especially Charlie Bone. Do we have an understanding?" Billy nods, frightened. "Good." Manfred grins rather privately at Asa and Zelda. "Let's make our way inside, shall we? And Billy, do go give Lydia my message."

Billy scampers back across the grounds to the castle. Asa holds up his hand to Manfred. "High five!" he cries triumphantly.

Manfred, for a moment, looks disgusted. Then, a look of pure exultance on his pale face, he slaps Asa's hand in victory. The two throw their composure to the wayside and jump up and down in celebration, pumping their fists and cheering like ten-year-olds.

"Boys." Zelda shakes her head, smiling to herself as she makes her way back to the school.

* * *

"DISPERSE!" The unmistakable voice of Doctor Harold Bloor thunders across the cafeteria, sending children in blue, purple, and green capes scattering.

Manfred yawns loftily before rising from his spindly seat at the head of the drama table and retreating to the cafeteria to fetch the dish-cart for clearing. Asa fairly skips off to the restroom with an informative shout of "I've got to go!" causing Zelda to wince as she gets up from her seat and pushes in her chair.

She notices, as she begins to telekinetically stack the dishes and sort the silverware (_It's really disgusting, touching other people's used cutlery, _she thinks) that she and Lydia Pieman—_Oh God please kill me now—_are the only two left in the cafeteria. Lydia thrusts her shoulders back, emphasizing her bust (_Why does she even bother? Manfred's not around, thank God_) and struts toward Zelda in 3 inch stiletto heels.

_Oh, excellent. This should be interesting. _

"What do you need, Lydia?" Zelda snaps. She's not about to start a long conversation with this girl, this girl who has made it her mission to make Zelda's life even more hellish than it already is since first year. No, this needed to be quick and painless and utterly scathing.

Lydia pauses a moment, a dangerous 1000-watt smile making its way onto her overly made-up face. Zelda knows that she is assessing her every flaw; the rip in her black tights and her riotous, uncombed hair is made all the more prominent by Lydia's assessment. Lydia meets Zelda's accusatory green eyes with her glassy blue ones, twirling a strawberry blonde curl around and around her perfectly manicured finger. Snapping her gum voraciously, she takes a tentative step nearer and fixes Zelda with a look of disdain.

Zelda glares right back and Lydia flinches. At this, Zelda allows herself a small, private smile before raising her eyebrows expectantly. "Well, if you don't have anything to say to me, you'd best get to your homework." Relishing her powers as head girl—_Manfred's head boy, you know, _she wants to say—she turns away and continues stacking dishes with a sort of glittering euphoria.

Lydia clears her throat. "You were outside during study period today," she singsongs. "I don't think you'd want Doctor Bloor to find out about that, do you?"

"You forget, Lydia, that his son is my boyfriend." Lydia's pretty face takes on a maniacal air, veins throbbing in her temples- Zelda thinks it looks rather painful. This, Manfred Bloor, is Zelda's primary weapon against Lydia, and she loves to dangle her 'ownership' in front of Lydia's face.

"I think we all know that Doctor Bloor doesn't approve of you," Lydia reminds. The sad thing about this is that Zelda is all-too-aware that this statement is true. Zelda has been reluctant to help with the overall scheme of Bloor world domination of late, and, as a result, Doctor Bloor has begun to hint that Manfred and Zelda should—quote—'reconsider their options'. Zelda has no intention of reconsidering any options, Doctor Bloor's wishes non-withstanding.

"Look, Lydia, we've had this argument several times too many. Why don't you just accept that one boy prefers me over you and settle for one of the million others who almost literally worship the ground you walk upon?" Zelda finally gets out.

"Because why should someone like Manfred, who is handsome and talented and _rich_—" Lydia places emphasis on this word, knowing as many of the seniors do that Zelda's family is indebted to the Bloors "—settle for someone like you, an ugly, flat-chested, telekinetic bookworm freak?"

Zelda ignores Lydia's extensive and awkward adjective choice. "If that's how you want to play, Lydia Pieman, so be it." Before Lydia can get another word out, Zelda has sent Lydia's own barely-touched plate floating through the air, ending up poised right above her head.

"No—m'sorry—I just got my hair done!" Lydia ends on a shriek as the platter twitches fitfully.

"That's too bad. What can you do for me that will make up for your careless comment? Be quick about it, or…" Zelda lets the platter speak for her, making it shiver. At this moment, Asa arrives back from the restroom and Manfred emerges from the kitchen with the cart. Asa laughs uproariously, surveying the scene and understanding within moments. Manfred does not look amused. Zelda relinquishes her power and sends the plate to the stack with the others. Lydia looks relieved, flushes red at the sight of Manfred, then flees, disappearing in seconds.

"What was that all about?" Manfred inquires irritably. "Oh, just another argument with Cook, nothing to get in all worried about," he adds, noticing his companions' questioning faces.

"Nothing," Zelda answers.

Asa snorts. "You keep on telling yourself that, Zel."

* * *

The King's room is near-empty that night, silent save for the scritch-scratching of pencils and the frustrated sighs of overworked students trying in desperation to cram in last-minute information. Emma Tolly's exams are finished; she and her Aunt Julia have already left for the seashore. Tancred has pleaded a stomachache and is currently in the kitchen, a thermometer shoved under his reluctant tongue by Cook. Gabriel Silk and Charlie Bone are rehearsing for the end-of-term concert, leaving Manfred, Asa, Zelda, Lysander, Dorcas, and Billy hunched over the round table.

Asa tears a sheet of notebook paper from his binder, delighting in the resulting _rip. _He scribbles something down, then passes the note to Dorcas, who is sitting beside him.

_Say Zelda, Manfred and I found a copy of Yolanda's will. Any ideas why she might not have included Doctor Bloor in it? _

Dorcas' plump face lights up. Asa does a jittery polka with his toes on the wood floor while waiting for her reply.

_**Well, I have a few. But are we speaking theoretically or literally?**_

Gripping the pencil hard, Asa scrawls a reply down. If only she'd just spill whatever she knows…!

**Let's play it safe and say theoretically.**

Dorcas gives Lysander Sage a glare as he leans over her shoulder to try to read the note. He offers a devil-may-care grin and, shaking his head, buries himself in his studying once more.

_**All right. I'll tell you. But it's best not to tell many people, excepting Manfred and Zelda.**_

_Of course no one except Freddy and Zel! And what the hell kind of word is excepting anyways?_ Asa wondered as he wrote back. _Time to find out…_

**A secret? This'd better be good. **

Dorcas, simpering slightly at Asa, finally surrenders the crucial piece of information.

_**Venetia and Doctor Bloor were 'together' when they were in Bloor's. **_

Asa's jaw literally drops. Open-mouthed, he turns to give Manfred and Zelda a bug-eyed _oh my god _stare. They look back at him incredulously—_as they very well should,_ thinks Asa. _I am note-passing with DORCAS LOOM (blaargh get me out of here) after all. What in hell's name caused me to stoop to this level? Oh yeah, my rather inappropriate relationship with a much older woman. Right, then. Let's proceed. _

**WHAT?! Shit, I had no idea… but how does that relate?**

Blushing to the roots of her pale hair, Dorcas writes down the reply, hoping Asa will know what she's talking about without having to go into a long, gory explanation. _I would die if I had to explain __**that**__ to Asa, of all people! Please God let him know what I'm talking about…_

_**See, he was only using her for… y'know…**_

Asa makes a horrible _hack-hack-gurgle-gulp_ noise as he chokes on his own spit. Oh yeah, he knew exactly what Dorcas was trying to insinuate. _Here's a clue: I haven't had it, but my two best friends have it nearly every night. Wait a second. Did anyone really need to know that? Ok, back to (gag) Dorc. (And that's a major, major good one. Points x 1 million, Pike. Congrats.)_ Asa tosses Manfred an _I'm the man! _wink before sliding the note over to Dorcas. Manfred frowns reproachfully, but Asa takes no notice.

**Sex. **

Dorcas blushes even redder than before, the rosy glow tinting her sallow skin and giving her face the overall emergence of a bruised apple. _Did he really just say that? I wonder if he's ever done it... omigod, Dorcas, not now! _She shakes the improper thoughts from her head with a toss of her curls and passes the note back to Asa.

_**Um… yeah. And she told Belle and I that she'd always wanted to have an official relationship and maybe get married, but he never asked, and one day she realized that he'd been using her all along. Her sisters had warned her over and over, but she'd never listened to them. **_

_Okay. What the hell are we talking about anyways? Yolanda's will, right? I don't give a werewolf's hairy… alright, if she wants to be difficult, fine. I've got two hours to listen._ After this unpleasant interlude within the rather scrambled recesses of Asa's head, he scratches in a prompt.

**So…**

_Ooh! I think Asa is trying to talk to me! Why else would he act so clueless? He obviously wants me to write more!! Maybe…_ Dorcas tosses aside all thoughts of romance and sets in to explain.

_**Belle was mad, majorly mad, on behalf of Venetia, who, after all, had been raised by her. She was totally on Venetia's side in everything, so she told us that Doctor Bloor wasn't getting a penny out of her when she passed. I'm not sure how she knew it'd be all that soon, though. **_

Asa scribbled down what he thought was an almost-goodbye-hint-hint type phrase and then passes the note back for (hopefully) the last time.

**Holy shit! That explains a hell of a lot. Mind if I pass this to Zelda and then Manfred? **

Dorcas scans the note with a concerned frown line marring her forehead. _Then again, maybe he is just clueless… well, I might as well try to relinquish my pride *cough* flirt some more. _

_**Sure, no prob, A. **_

_A? What's with the familiarity? Whoa, slow waaaaay doooownnnn. I was counting on the Doctor Bloor and Venetia shocker being my last spit-choking inducement of the day, but it's clear that I was wrong. _Asa notices Zelda's prudent get-studying-face and, suddenly, an idea hits him with all the force of a gate-crashing meteor. _This should do the trick… _

**Good. Thanks. What's the square root of pie?**

Dorcas wrinkled her brow. _What the… maybe he's just nervous to talk to me. _She sighs. _Yeah, right. _She passes the note back to Asa with what she hopes is a sexy pout.

_**What are you talking about?**_

Asa wants to pound his fist on the table in agony. _This. Has. Got. To. Stop! And what's with her face? Is she supposed to be sucking on a lemon? Okay, I'm going to end it all right… here. _His canines bared in a gleeful grin, he slides the note back to Dorcas and pretends to be overly interested in his horrible, boring, sleep-inducing, volume of _Macbeth._ Zelda gives him an approving nod.

**Zelda's giving me that look. Got to study. Bye now. **

_Ooh, Zelda! She already has a boyfriend! Why does she want to make my almost-one study? Humph. She's probably jealous. _Dorcas wrote a last reply down for Asa, passed the note to him, and then buried her nose in an Art History textbook.

_**How does that even… um, okay, bye. **_

Relieved, Asa passes the note to Zelda and throws his head onto the table, almost sobbing in gratitude. _Finally! Finally, thank God and Satan and all the miscellaneous deities that hold court at Bloor's academy! Thank you, Red King! Thank you, Easter Bunny! Thank you… okay, I really do have better things to think about. Like… Macbeth, for example. _

_Arrrrg! Way to get inside my head, Zel. Damn you. _

_

* * *

_"Wow. Wow, wow, wow. And Asa, the square root of pie? Is that your misguided attempt to make me think you were studying?" Zelda shakes her head, sipping a china teacupful of coffee and nibbling on a cookie. She, Manfred, and Asa have decided to use their remaining fifteen minutes before lights out in the kitchen, to congregate and confer on both the note-passing marathon and the 'errand'.

Manfred still looks slightly dazed. "But… that's impossible… she's his aunt or something!"

"Not entirely impossible, mate. Stranger things have happened," Asa says.

Zelda remembers something, pouring herself another cup of coffee. "That explains all of the comparisons to Venetia from Grizelda, the _you're-a-slut_ looks from Eustacia and the constant reminders of how horrible Bloor men are from Venetia! They think I'm like her."

Asa guffaws. "That's not too far off the mark, Zel. The pale skin, the black hair, the beaky nose… the ridiculous excuse for fashion sense…"

"Oh, shut up. By the way, are you two packed?"

"Yes," says Manfred.

"Asa?"

"Almost. I'll just pack up the camera tomorrow, I wouldn't want it to get damaged or anything."

"Good. Leave it all in the passageway behind the tapestry."

"Which?" Manfred asks.

"The one in that little stairwell behind the theater. Y'know, the tapestry with the unicorn that has the bloody horn," Zelda supplies.

"Okay then," Asa says, a crazy look in his yellow eyes. He swallows hard, feeling the twinge of his adam's apple in his throat, nothing going down. It is beginning, the strange humming starting as a barely-there flutter and building to a fearsome crescendo, right now merely tinny and niggling in his ears, but sticky and magnetic all the same. "Ahem." He clears his throat. Manfred has become distracted by Zelda and Zelda is beginning to acquire her singular _two-cups-of-coffee-power-surge-overload-lets-get-out-of-here-Manfred-I-want-you-now _air.

Asa clears his throat again. His throat is thick; he knows he has mere moments left. It's hard to speak. "I guess I'll… turn in now." He doesn't wait for an answer, leaping up from the table and out the back door of the kitchen, which is his secret exit. Zelda rises from her stool and drains her third cup of coffee, her intense gaze and pale façade slightly frenzied.

Manfred's black stare is for her and her alone. A word escapes him as he pulls her to him, closer-and-closer-and-closer-until—

"Zelda." This one word excites her to no end. His voice is dry and horse, cloying and heavy like smoke. He kisses her then, romancing her with his mouth. She tugs hard at his hair and he moans into her mouth; she smiles. It is too sharp, so poignant for these two, a knife-like blade of lust and fire and, most unexpectedly, love.

_And we find and we fall and we forget, oh we forget—_

"Bed!" The Matron's voice crackles like tired static. Her command is meant solely for Zelda—not Manfred, oh no, not the headmaster's son. The couple breaks apart lazily, slowly, like a sticky-sweet caramel pulling into two pieces. Zelda kisses Manfred again, all rosewater and sugar now, petite and innocent and completely adult-approved. Manfred looks rather put off as she brushes past the Matron, her purple cape whirling and her thin hand coming back to tease her hair out of its rampant braid. The Matron gives Manfred a censorious glare, then about-faces and marches up to the dormitories to check up on the other children. Contrary to popular (Asa and Zelda's) belief, Manfred does not enjoy being the only one immune to orders from the Matron.

It is only once Manfred reaches his small bedroom and fumbles into his pocket for the matchbox that he finds a crumpled slip of paper. He smoothes it out after lighting the long tapers on his desk and squints to make out the words.

_M-_

_Meet me in the costume room at 12. I'll find some way to slip past the Matron. Be ready. I've all sorts of things I'd like to show you. _

_All my love,_

_Z_

Manfred grins hungrily, the fire in his chest growing immense once more. For him, the night is far from over.

* * *

Ackkkk. That was rather difficult to keep T.

End Chapter One. Will this make its way anywhere? Only time will tell.


	2. the escape

Author's note: This is chapter two, in which there are several run-on sentences and which is considerably better than chapter one, at least in my opinion. It's finally on the road. I've begun to write the rest of the chapters, adding bits and pieces of what will someday be over ten pages for each. I'm toying with both the Branko twins and an OC right now, to possibly arrive in one of the later chapters. We'll see. For now, I am planning on eight chapters with an epilogue that will be shorter. My goal is for it to be completed by the New Year. And, in 2009, maybe a sequel, which will be titled _Almost Time, _if I can manage to finish this one.

Disclaimer: I do not own Charlie Bone.

* * *

**the escape**

x marks the spot:

here's where we make our escape

hop in, slam the metal doors gratingly

feel the rusty purr grow and grow to a full-on roar until we're flying

see the burnt rubber smeared on the asphalt as the other car fades into the shadows

_--and I was too late for love—_

Exam day dawns bright and searingly early, hot sunlight flooding through the gables of the wide windows of Bloor's academy, awakening unsuspecting teens and permeating the entire school with the cries of panic it induces. Children reach parrying hands for their notecards, whizzing through them in a mad _flash-autocracy flash-hydroxide flash-Ophelia _shuffle, and back again, spinning on near broken cogs, cranking out a _tick-tack-tock-helpmeI'mgoingtofail_ noise that echoes over and over. The teachers, vexed beyond belief, fold their arms and do their best to look imposing while the semi-decent students gulp formulas and dates instead of breakfast, ignoring the warnings of "You can't take a test on a full stomach!"

It is the last day (oh, did I tell you it's the _last day?!_) but this itch of exhilaration does nothing to still everyone's hammering hearts. Tancred, after sitting still as a stone with his eyes wide open and goggling for the best part of breakfast, suddenly leaps out of his chair and begins yelling unintelligible nonsense, much to the chagrin of the prefects at the Art table. Olivia Vertigo, her hair mousy brown, her normally impeccable face devoid of makeup, and wearing pink bunny slippers under her school skirt, starts singing show tunes at the top of her lungs, causing Manfred to lob his copy of Hamlet, which had been previously jammed so close to his nose that Zelda had been afraid for his sanity, sky-high. It is flung the length of the Drama table, finally coming down with a _splat _in the butter dish. Charlie Bone bangs his head on the Music table again and again, muttering to himself, while a concerned-looking Fidelio Gunn hums the Eccles violin Sonata at warp speed in a panicked attempt to calm both Charlie and himself. Unfortunately, it fails to produce any sense of serenity for either of the two boys.

Back at the Art table, Emma Tolly begins going over vocabulary notecards with Lysander Sage. She holds the stack directly in front of her face and flips one over. "Pandemonium," she intones brusquely, her pink mouth forming each syllable into different words. "Pan-de-mo-ni-um," she repeats, this time even slower and crisper. She rocks back and forth on the seat of her chair, a slightly deranged look in her blue eyes.

Lysander is perhaps the only mildly calm one of the bunch. He leans back in his chair and crosses his long legs at the ankle, yawning luxuriously. "Pandemonium." He says it for the third time. Emma widens her eyes in crazed exasperation. And again, he repeats the word, before finally pronouncing the definition.

"Pandemonium: the state of Bloor's academy on final exam day."

* * *

_**Form XII British Literature Exam, Part VIII- Essay Prompt: Who is Hamlet? Is he mad, or merely carrying out the dying wishes of his father? Write a 5-page essay detailing your thesis, and remember to double-space. No calculators will be permitted during this section of the exam. **_

Asa almost starts bawling. _I might as well not even have studied for all the remembering I'm doing! C'mon, Pike, channel your inner Zelda… be the Zelda… om. Om. Ommmmmm. OM! Shit, meditation's clearly not going to work. If only Zelda were here… sitting right beside me… yeah, that'd be the day. _He glances toward Zelda, who is sitting in the front row and scribbling furiously with a pencil, her black head of hair twitching as if it's alive. Tapping his pencil in agitation against the desk, he stretches his lips into a pathetic excuse for a smile when Mr. Carp stares sternly down his droopy nose at him. Carp clearly isn't fooled, giving a disbelieving grunt before returning to his paperwork, but this time with one eye firmly trained on Asa Pike.

_Well, I might as well write my name, right? That's the first step to writing a good essay, right? Right? _Asa grips his pencil between his thumb and forefinger and scrawls his name on his first sheet of paper.

**Asa Pike**

_RIGHT?!_

Asa scratches his head and wonders about his thesis. He remembers Mr. Carp saying something about a thesis back in Year three… what was it he had said? 'A thesis is an introductory statement that outlines your essay and captures the essence of it in a mere sentence?' Well, that sounded an awful lot like something Mr. Carp might say, but that didn't mean it was right. Mr. Carp said a hell of a lot of things, most of which were wrong. Asa's mind goes to autopilot as he stares harder and harder at the sheet of paper, blue and pink and white blending into a sickly fluorescence like the electric bulbs above… _What would Zelda do? Zelda would write the essay like the scholar she is. What would Manfred do? Manfred would write down anything at all, and walk out. Right. Like that's going to work. I'm not Mr. high-and-mighty Manfred Bloor, with a job all laid out for me when I graduate. _

Asa's stomach suddenly does a little flip. _IF I graduate. Well, I'd best get cracking. _He looks at the clock, squinting to make out the black numerals. Eleven forty-five… well, he still had half an hour to finish!... Oh GOD. Asa blinks once, twice, three times, before almost slamming his head downward and beginning to jot down what he knows is the worst kind of drivel known to man— just as Zelda hands in her finished essay and heads out the door.

**You ask me about Hamlet, eh? Well, I've got to hand it to you, Carp. This prompt's insanely easy. Yep, you heard me right. E-A-S-Y. This'll be a piece of cake. Strawberry cake. I like strawberry cake. Anyways, back to the story. Hamlet's an interesting guy… he has all sorts of enigmatic things happen to him during the play. Well, we actually put on the play this year! First, we held auditions. Manfred Bloor was first up. His monologue was rather inspiring, but his singing was uninspiring. (Note that Inspiring and Uninspiring are antonyms. I'm having a vision of extra credit… hint hint.) Second was me, Asa Pike. My acting was bad and my singing was worse, as described by Zelda Dobinski. Olivia Vertigo was third to audition. She was fabulous, as always—**

Seemingly five minutes later, the introductory paragraph well on its way, Asa is hailed by a cry of "Time's up, boy!" and is shocked into jerking his eyes away from the paper. He finds himself nose-to-nose with a purple-faced Mr. Carp and an otherwise empty classroom.

* * *

Writing was like kissing, Zelda decides as she skims the writing prompt, bright verbs, concrete nouns, and flowery adjectives already blooming in her mind. There were so many things to experience, so many sensory details to retain. She grasps the pencil almost gingerly, taking in the puffy pink eraser; the silvery spirals of metal; the sunflower painted wood; and finally, the sharpened end; dappled, almost watermarked, soft wood ending in a sharpened graphite nub. She smoothes the paper with her left hand and tightens her grasp on the pencil with her right, taking in the patched, translucent whiteness of the paper and the electricity of its blue raspberry and red raspberry stripes, before poising her pencil above the paper, her hand already beginning to move of its own accord.

All of her senses heighten—the creamy feel of the sheet of paper, the sight of Manfred's rather adorable frustrated expression two seats down, the smell of dirty eraser scrubs, the taste of almost-success on her tongue, and the ticking of the clock the only sound to be heard. Zelda, a slight smile playing about her lips, starts at last to write, delighting in the little tea-leaf scented bubble of happiness that expands inside of her as her pencil scratches its way through an amazing essay and the front-and-back of all five sheets of paper.

It is only once she has turned in her finished essay and made her way to the Drama cloakroom, where she lounges on a pile of discarded costume pieces, that she has the awful realization: _I did something horribly wrong. I know I wouldn't have allowed myself to skip out on Oxford unless I hadn't made it in the first place. If only I hadn't done well on that essay, if only I hadn't done well on all of my exams, if only I were stupid, like Lydia, or lazy, like Asa, if only… if only I were allowed to stay here forever… because now I know. Now I know that, at the end of the summer, I have to go. _And she thinks, haltingly, that maybe writing isn't really like kissing after all. Maybe it's like loss and love and exuberantly flying away while feeling so, so empty.

Tears come to her eyes, and she is grateful, for once, that Manfred isn't here to see her cry.

* * *

All around him, students sigh and students brainstorm and students breathe harder than is absolutely necessary before students finally get down to the nuts and bolts of the actual writing, and all Manfred can do is stare at the paper without really seeing it. He sees only Zelda, both the real Zelda and the much less serious one in his mind's eye, as he replays every detail of last night over… and over… and over.

_And she draws herself up before crossing her arms and pulling off her top… _Manfred smiles at the memory of her, all for him and only for him, and he, in turn, all and only for her. He imagines how their summer will go, and frowns at the thought of it ending. _Why on earth does Zelda have to leave? Why does she need college? (God knows she's smart enough…) Why does she want to go there instead of getting married as_ _soon as possible?_ Manfred has always taken it for granted that he and Zelda will be together for forever; it is an undeniable fact. He has been forced to accept that Zelda will be going to college, and that they will have to prolong their forever four extra years. He is prepared to wait for her, that is certain. He will wait for as long as it takes for her to be ready too; he will wait for all of eternity if necessary.

But oh, the long horrible days of nothing but plotting and scheming and yelling at Charlie Bone… he knows already that they will be unbearable. There was a time, not too long ago, when he looked forward with bated breath for the time he and Zelda and Asa could go to college and escape Bloor's. He had hated the school, and when he is being honest with himself, he knows that he still does. Hates the vile-smelling cloakrooms and the bland, doughy teachers and his god-awful father and his decrepit grandfather and hates, most of all, being Satan reincarnated to children not much younger than himself. He hates everything about Bloor's except Asa and Zel, and tells himself that they are the only ones keeping him in it.

But, in this mirror-world of brutal honesty, he knows that Asa and Zel are not the only reason he is still here. He is here because he needs to be sure that his mother, if she ever returns, will be able to find him if she does. Manfred hates Charlie Bone for taking his mother away, and regularly expresses this hatred, but he knows that the person who really drove her away was not Charlie, or Ezekiel, or even his father. It was himself. Now he can only remember her glossy blonde hair, scented with wisteria and magnolias as she bent to kiss his forehead when he was a boy, and the high, clear strains of her violin. He doesn't like thinking about the night he crushed her hand, and all the days after, when he witnessed her fall into depression. And Manfred, try as he might, can find nothing but to stay in Bloor's, so if his mother ever comes back for him, he can apologize.

Many have speculated that Manfred Bloor is incapable of love. But he of all people knows that he is not. He loves his mother, and Asa, and Cook, and even little Billy, who can be endearing when it suits him. He loves Zelda most of all. He loves her more than life, and he cannot begin to imagine it without her. Manfred can't let himself imagine that she won't return to him after one of her flights. And so he knows that letting her go at the end of the summer will be the hardest thing of all.

He looks impassively at the paper before rising from his desk and turning it in blank. It's only one section of the exam, and he knows that he could have written a very good essay if he'd wanted to. He just… didn't. It's a funny thing, having your future straight and sure and true, set out for you like a row of black-on-white dominos. It makes it all the more surprising when someone sticks out a finger and knocks them all down.

For birds this beautiful—birds that are, in fact, as beautiful as swans—cannot live their lives behind bars. And even the beast will leave someday—he cannot stay here either. But fire can, and fire does, and fire will.

_Mama was wisteria and magnolia, but Zelda is all sour apples and raindrops, black patent leather high heels on an empty dance floor, complicated calculations and Shakespeare novels, white feathers and inky eyelashes, buttered popcorn flavored jellybeans and water so hot it scalds you until there's nothing left but your soul, everything right and true and uncomplicated, but somehow, everything I'll never really know._

_

* * *

_Asa thinks to himself, as he waltzes down the Drama hallway and into the cloakroom, that there is nothing better than finishing up your last inkling of schoolwork and knowing that you'll never have to do another speck of it again. He whistles a slightly off-key version of _Officer Krupke _as he opens the cloakroom doors with a bang and takes in the sight of Zelda dozing on a pile of capes and Manfred staring at the opposite wall while sitting cross legged and morosely eating a striped lollipop.

"HOW'D IT GO?!" Asa yells, high-spirited in his glory. Zelda wakes with a start, jerks up, and promptly hits her head on the wall behind her.

"Clever, Asa," Manfred says as Zelda, eyes reeling with incandescent sparks, rubs her head and mutters curses under her breath.

"Clever is my middle name. It went beautifully. And again, how'd yours go?"

"Not too bad," Manfred says with a guilty grin.

"Tell him the truth!" Zelda shouts, crawling drunkenly over to them to lay her head in Manfred's lap and grab his lollipop, jamming it into her mouth and scowling up at him. "Ang Asa, neber wake me uhp like that UGAIN." Her words are muffled by the candy in her mouth.

"Okay, Zel, but really, how'd it go?" Asa peers questioningly at Zelda with a goofy smile.

"Horribly, actually. Manfred, tell the truth."

Manfred looks heavenward. "I turned it in blank. And Zelda. Yours did not go horribly. I know that for a fact."

"Oh?" Zelda props herself up on an elbow to look at him.

"I know because I heard Carp talking to Miss Chrystal about it and he said, and I quote, that it was the most creative interpretation of that particular writing prompt he'd seen in years."

"He was trying to flirt, I'll wager," Asa puts in. "But he did say it. I was there."

"Oh. Alright." Zelda sucks dolefully on her candy and drops her head again. Asa settles down to sit beside Manfred, his back pressed against the wall. "What time was it?" she asks suspiciously.

"Right after dinner. You should've been there! It was amazing, there was roast beef and Yorkshire pudding and those yum candied carrots… oh, and those red cupcakes with vanilla frosting that I loooove. I had three. They were delicious." Asa's eyes are slightly glazed over as he discusses the food. "Have you been in here sleeping all day?"

"Yes. And those cupcakes are called red velvet, and the icing is not vanilla, it's cream cheese. And Manfred, you stole that lollipop from our dorm. Lydia keeps a little jar of them on the windowsill. What were you looking for up there, anyways? And Asa, I don't believe you about your essay going beautifully. Tell me how it really went after Manfred tells me exactly why he was in the senior girl's dorm."

Manfred, nonplussed, replies, "I was looking for my purple tie. Father got mad at me for not wearing it today, and I remember you took it with you when you left the costume room last night at 3 a.m."

"Ackkkk! TMI!" Asa shouts, pressing his hands over his ears. "I don't want to know why you two were in the costume room."

"Good," Zelda says after another lick of her lollipop, "because we weren't going to tell you. Manfred, did you find the tie?"

Manfred whacks her cheek lightly with the tie that is now hanging around his neck. "Yes, silly. Why exactly was it in your bed?"

Zelda's cheeks turn scarlet before she recovers, shaking her head and paling considerably. "I haven't the foggiest. Asa?" She raises her eyebrows expectantly. "Tell me your exact first sentence in that essay. And then tell me your thesis."

"I think it was something along the lines of, 'You're asking about Hamlet to me, eh?'"

Zelda rolls her eyes and smacks her forehead. "Asa. What will I do with you? What was your thesis?"

"Where's that going to be?"

Zelda's eyes widen until they resemble those of a bug. "Don't you have any idea? Did you even have one?"

"I won't know for sure until you tell me where it's supposed to be. Then I'll think about my paragraph—"

"Paragraph?" Manfred says incredulously, letting out a bark of a laugh.

"—and tell you what it is." Asa finishes, crossing his arms and sulking defiantly.

"The thesis statement," Zelda begins, "is customarily located at the end of the first paragraph and explains to the reader what the body paragraphs of the essay are going to detail."

"Um, it was something like, 'Olivia Vertigo was third to audition and her audition was fabulous, as always.'"

Zelda covers her eyes with her hand. "I don't know why I ever woke up. I should just go back to sleep So you didn't do a good essay after all. Did you even finish?"

"I finished my paragraph! I explained everything I'd set out to explain in one paragraph. It was… oh, what's the word… it was one of our vocabulary words and it means something like short-and-sweet…"

"Succinct," Manfred says, checking his watch. "And now, my partners in crime,it is time to embark on our journey to the King's Room."

"Urgh." Zelda says, turning over and burying her face in Manfred's lap—an action which causes him to bodily stiffen and Asa to smirk. Manfred gracelessly pulls Zelda to her feet when he stands, allowing her to wrap her arms around his neck as she refuses to support her own weight for a moment. Asa clambers up, and the three are off.

On the way there, Asa thinks that it is such freedom and such the best day to be with his best friends, walking to the King's room for the very last time. He clears his throat and, impulsively, starts to sing.

_"Happiness runs in a circular motion_

_Love is a little boat upon the sea_

_Everybody is a part of everything anyway  
_

_You can be happy if you let yourself be."_

Asa's voice, when he is trying, is quite nice, a coppery baritone that is raspy in a pleasant sort of way. Manfred adds his gold-y tenor to the mix and sings the next verse along with Asa.

_"Slow down, you're running too fast_

_You gotta make the morning last just_

_Skipping down the cobblestones_

_Looking for fun and feeling grooooovy…"_

The two boys end the last note in their falsettos, sticking their noses in the air and afterwards doubling over with laughter. Zelda gives up and smiles helplessly at them, twitching spastically to hold in the giggles.

"Silence in the halls…" she finally laughs breathlessly.

"I think the rules are referring to talking," Manfred whispers to her. "C'mon, sing with us!"

"I'll start it up," Asa encourages, and begins singing in a jittery fashion, quick and light on the tongue.

_"Some men are born to live at ease, doing what they please, richer than the bees are in honey…"_

Manfred picks up the tune.

_"Never growing old, never feeling cold, pulling pots of gold from the air!"_

Zelda, shrugging, her eyebrows going up alarmingly, continues.

_"The best in every town, best at shaking down, best at making mountains of money…" _

Her soprano is hoarse on low notes and silvery-spiky on the higher ones. Asa finishes up the verse with a theatrical air, singing with all of his wind and most of his bravado.

_"They can't take it with them, but what do they care?!" _

Zelda and Manfred laugh hysterically at Asa's over-the-top impression of what is clearly meant to be a male version of Olivia Vertigo, and, after a while, so does Asa. The three are still laughing, to the ultimate horror of most of the younger children, when they enter the King's room, and Manfred, still chortling, picks up his clipboard to tally the roll.

* * *

They meet, panting, at the crossroads of the Drama hallway and the route to the senior boys' dorms (Asa suddenly remembered, conveniently after homework period, that he had forgotten his pajamas) at precisely 8:42. When the final bell had rung, it had been a general shout of jubilance from all of the endowed children except Manfred, Zelda, and Billy, a flurry of chucked notebooks and pens, and a stampede to hop onto buses or catch rides with parents as fast as humanly possible.

Manfred and Zelda are now laden with two leather suitcases each, Asa with a pair of red flannel pants patterned with blue plaid. Billy Raven sprints up, his glasses askew and his white hair sticking up in tufts. "Are you leaving now?"

"Yes," Zelda tells him simply. "We'll see you at the end of August. We plan to call here once we reach our final destination, so don't tell a soul except maybe Cook that you knew about this in advance."

"Vacation?" Billy looks longingly at the suitcases and the three older children.

"Maybe someday we'll take you with us," Manfred says in an unexpected display of fondness. "For now, it's goodby—" His words are cut off by the screech of the Matron, who is waddling at an unusually fast rate down the long hallway.

"Manfred Ignatius Bloor, where are you? Your father wants to see you in his study! And don't bring that Dobinski girl and the Pike boy with you; this is private!"

"Quick!" Zelda hisses, pushing Manfred and Asa, who sprint in front of her to the front door. Behind them, they can hear the stuttering voice of Billy trying to explain to the Matron that he hasn't seen Manfred since homework period and would she tell him where the bathroom was because he'd forgotten where to find it. It was quite obvious that Matron didn't believe Billy's show of temporary amnesia, and when the three get out of the front door and close it behind them, they halt for a while, looking in awe at the still-blazing sky.

They are shocked into running by Matron's unmistakable shout: "I don't believe you, Raven!" and they tear down the path to the gates, which Zelda opens telekinetically, and the three don't stop until they are seven blocks away, in front of Zelda's house, number nine Darkly Wynd. Zelda tentatively wrenches open the ornate silver doorknob round, pulling the heavy door open with a _creak._

"I knew it'd be unlocked," she mutters, stepping hesitantly in. Manfred and Asa follow, setting down their suitcases impulsively in the doorway. They are greeted by a fog of cigarette smoke and the sour, permeating odor of cheap liquor. Zelda looks ashamed, tiptoeing over smashed bottles and shards of Venetian glass, leading Manfred and Asa to a room painted a once-loud-now-faded cherry red, in which a dusky green velvet sofa lurks ominously. Upon it slumps a man who is all planes and angles. He is perhaps in his early fifties, his once black hair fading to a salt-and-pepper. His head is lolled over his neck in a sickening parody of a sleeping marionette, and Zelda begins to tremble.

Manfred puts his arm around her. "Zelda," Asa whispers. "Why the hell are we here? I thought all we needed was to get the car and go."

"The keys are in his pocket," Zelda says. "And I can't see them so we're either going to have to manually take them out or wake him up and ask for them. Which do you propose?"

"We need to wake him up." Manfred's tone is low and steady, and Zelda knows that he is right.

"Okay." She draws a shaky breath.

"D'you want me to do it?" This is from Asa.

"Okay." It seems that this is all she can say.

Asa places one hand on each of the man's shoulders and shakes him as hard as he can while yelling, "HEY!" Ruben Dobinski opens his bleary eyes and focuses.

"Long time, no see, eh Malia?" he slurs.

Zelda winces. "I'm Zelda, Daddy."

"Oh, right. And who are these two fine young men? They'll have to leave, in any case. Give us a kiss, Zelda. You've grown, I see." He casts an appreciative glance at Zelda's chest, reaching for her with a dirty hand. She goes rigid.

"Look. You either give us the keys that are in your pocket, or I get Harold—you do know Harold, don't you?—to come and check up on you, collect his debt, shall we say." Manfred knows that Zelda's father only ever hit her, but Manfred had made sure of it that she stayed with him at Bloor's from the time she was twelve up to age seventeen, using detentions and school projects as excuses for his own father. Mr. Dobinski, it seems, hasn't been fully conscious since a very, very long time ago.

Ruben squints at Manfred. "Harold? Bloor? You do look a bit like old Zeke, don't you? You're the Bloor boy. Awful familiar with my daughter, aren't you?"

"Remember your debt?" Manfred continues, taking no notice of Mr. Dobinski's previous comment. "Harold will be here tomorrow to collect it if you don't give me those keys right now. I think it's somewhere around seven thousand now."

Ruben pales, and scrabbles frantically in his pocket, finally drawing up a single silver key. "That's right…" Asa croons as Ruben drops the key into his daughter's waiting hand.

"Daddy," she whispers. "I think there are some Tylenol up in my bathroom. And there's about thirty bottles of wine up in my closet. I was stupid enough to think that maybe you wouldn't be drunk if you couldn't get to the ones you brought home."

"Thanks, Malia." Ruben smiles, long and lazy, the empty joy creeping round his mouth and crinkling his age-spattered face. This time, Zelda doesn't bother to correct him.

"Goodbye, Daddy," she offers as a parting. She turns then and almost runs out, pulling Manfred with her. Asa tails them as the trio breaks into a run again. Zelda hops into the front seat of the truck and sticks the key in the ignition as Asa throws the luggage into the backseat, climbing in after it. Manfred claims shotgun, and they are off, in a grinding and clanking of a rusty engine and a spin of antique tires.

"Who's Malia?" Asa asks.

"My mum. Daddy pushed her off the roof when I was six," Zelda answers, matter-of-fact.

* * *

_What happened at Bloor's, as told by Billy_

Billy shakes in his shoes as Zelda, Asa, and Manfred disappeared around a corner. The matron is getting closer and closer, her silver hair quivering in suppressed anger and her bulky black shoes making a _clip clap clop _on the wooden floors.

"Have you seen Manfred, boy?"

"N-no, Matron."

"That's a pity. If you tell me where he is, I'll give you a piece of chocolate," Matron says, her crackly voice dripping with sickly-sweet honey. Billy swallows hard.

"I said I didn't know where he is! Don't you believe me?" Billy cries, almost whining on the last 'me'. He holds his red eyes open wide until they begin to water.

The Matron blinks, surprised. "Of course I believe you…" she answers nervously. Unfortunately, the reassurance has no effect on Billy.

"No you don't! You never believe me, do you? I'm just like a… SLAVE to you, aren't I? And Blessed used my bed as a bathroom and _I_ can't find the bathroom and you hate me!" Billy slumps over, exhausted from his bout of drama. "My life sucks!" he screams, and then falls dramatically to the floor, covering his face with his hands and pretending to sob.

"Now, now, stop blubbering!" is all Matron can say. She can't tell Billy that he isn't like a slave to her, because he is, and she frowns upon lying except when it is used for her own personal gain. "I'm sure it isn't that bad," she adds.

"But it is!" Billy shrieks, his words muffled by his hands. Apparently his act was convincing. He covertly has a look at his watch. _8:09… hopefully I've bought them enough time. _

The two are startled by the footfalls of Dr. Bloor, who comes stomping down the long hallway toward them, pushing Ezekiel in his wheelchair. "Lucretia!" he bellows. "Load up the Cadillac. Ruben phoned. Apparently his daughter just stopped by, along with Manfred and Asa. They forced him to give up his car keys and left. I think they've escaped."

"Yes, sir!" Lucretia cried, taking Ezekiel from Dr. Bloor and rushing toward the front door.

Billy lifts his head hesitantly from his hands. "Boy!" Dr. Bloor barks.

"Yes, sir?"

"Get yourself up off the floor. We wouldn't want to have to scrape you off it with a spatula after the punishment that's going to take place when I get back. I know you had a hand in this." Dr. Bloor grins ominously, and Billy picks himself up and runs for his life in the direction of the kitchen.

* * *

Zelda cruises down Frog Street, past the Pet's café, skirts around the Cathedral, and is racing down Filbert Street at an entirely comfortable speed of 25 miles per hour. Manfred puts his feet up on the dash and sighs. "Zel, can't you go any faster?"

Zelda grits her teeth. "Sure, if you want us to die, I can speed it up to about 40."

"How long has it been since you've drove?"

Veering to the left, Zelda narrowly misses hitting an oncoming car. "Last summer. And it was in the Ruins. It's my first time on the actual road, so shut up. I can't concentrate."

Asa starts and, quaking, says, "Zelda, you're going to have to concentrate. Real hard."

Zelda is about to ask why. Looking in the rearview mirror, she makes out a black Cadillac with Lucretia Yewbeam at the wheel and Dr. Harold Bloor in the front passenger seat, looking utterly furious. She presses her foot on the gas pedal, jerking forward when the car speeds up considerably. "What are we going to do?"

She is panicked, but Manfred is dangerously calm. "Keep driving, Zel. You're going to have to sit on my lap." Manfred unbuckles and moves to get into the front seat.

"Why?" Zelda shrieks. The car is swerving dangerously now, and the Cadillac, Asa informs them, is gaining speed.

"Because I'm going to drive. But don't stop driving until you're on my lap, and then you can move to the backseat." Zelda doesn't question him again, lifting her body up and miraculously keeping both her hands on the wheel and her foot on the gas. She almost sighs in relief when she is sitting on Manfred, his hands taking over the wheel and his toe nudging hers aside to work the gas. Zelda crawls out from under his arms and vaults into the backseat. The truck speeds up to over ninety miles per hour as the Cadillac pushes one hundred and ten.

"What am I going to do?" Zelda asks, looking out the rearview mirror at the oncoming car.

Asa opens the window. A blast of air greets them, making it hard to hear. "You're going to use telekinesis and push another car into their path when we get to the crossroads," Manfred yells back.

"I can't do that! If the object already has an applied force, I can't make it move another way—"

"You're going to have to, Zel!" Manfred bellows.

They were nearing the crossroads—the city limits. "Should I climb to the back and phase?" Asa asks. "I bet that'd scare them. Maybe I could jump onto the car and smash the front window with my almighty werewolf powers…"

"THIS ISN'T A MADE-FOR-TV MOVIE, ASA!" Manfred screams. "Now, Zel, GET READY!"

The green truck whizzes past the crossroads, with the Cadillac right behind. A red Miata is coasting the other way, ready to turn. Zelda concentrates and…

_Crash! _The front end of the Cadillac smashes into the passenger side of the other car, causing the airbags to inflate and the blond woman in the other car's front seat to jerk forward, screaming obscenities at the Cadillac. Luckily, she isn't hurt. Zelda thanks God for that. Manfred wonders dully if his father is wounded, and wishes that Ezekiel could have been in the passenger seat instead, knowing that the impact of the airbag would have surely crushed his frail body.

"Wow." Asa says, and for a moment, that is all that is important. _Wow, we did it. Wow, we escaped. Wow, we can spend our last summer together somewhere safe. _

"I hope Billy isn't hurt," Zelda says after a while. Manfred and Asa privately hope the same thing.

* * *

Billy is curled on the alcove in the senior girl's dormitory, having ran there in fear as soon as he heard the front door bang open. It seems that Manfred, Asa, and Zelda have gotten away, and he is glad for them, if not more than a bit envious. He sees three flashes of bright fire streak through the steadily dimming night—a ruby-reddish copper, a loud glittering orange, and a softly shimmering lemon-yellow. The cats make their way to the frightened boy and surround him, purring and rubbing against him and nuzzling his little body with their soft ears. Billy knows, from merely their presence and by what they are telling him, that they will keep him safe until Dr. Bloor's rage subsides.

* * *

It is past ten o' clock, and Manfred is still driving. Asa lays snoring in the backseat, curled up under all three of their purple capes. Zelda sits shotgun, her stocking feet up on the dashboard and her head resting against the window. She smiles back at Manfred as he glances at her, and takes his hand, squeezing it once. They need no words; they can tell each other _I love you_ with only this simple gesture.

For once, Zelda knows positively that all is right with her world. She reaches for the radio and fiddles with the dials until she finds a station. A love song by John Denver spools out of the rusty speakers, and Zelda revels in the slightly heart-wrenching romanticisms. The song changes and she grows drowsy. She leans her head back, closing her eyes, and then realizes that it is the sunset.

And she turns and looks at the sky, which is a myriad of colors unto itself. In the upper dome, deep periwinkle fades into clear, sticky-sweet Mountain Dew lemon lime, into the burnished orange cream hue of tiger lilies, which bleeds greyly into a smoky mauve that reaches down to meet the far-off but unfathomably close horizon—_the edge of the world._ The sunset is brilliant, making the feathery outlines of trees and the occasional house blackest black, like spilt ink against a pastel chalk background. Streetlamps glow neon in the twilight; the glaring saffron beacons make Zelda's heart hurt. She looks out the side window and sees her face silhouetted there, her sharp cheekbones and prominent nose portrayed in the thinnest ghostly gleaming white. The ragged tones of Led Zeppelins' _Stairway to Heaven _melt out of the scratchy old radio, winding themselves around them and trailing behind as the car races on, disappearing into the black.

* * *

What'd you think? Pleeeease tell me.


	3. getting there

Author's note: At this moment, it is 3:21 pm on a Wednesday afternoon—April 1st—and I am sitting on my bed with an economy sized jar of peanut butter, various apple slices, and this story, settling in for a power writing session. I plan to post this Tuesday, although right now I am only at the really-cool-or-freaky-depends-on-how-you-look-at-it argument part. But I WILL finish it, because I will make myself. I know this story has been scrambled at best for readers, what with my spastic updating skills, but I vow at this moment to finish it. Not promising when, but honestly, there is a lot of material just floating around for this, and I believe that I can use it to complete it.

I stopped writing this in the middle of January when I became hopelessly mired in the middle of the diner scene. I started writing again yesterday. Today, if you are reading this when I updated, it should be April the 2nd. I am at the moment suffering through another horrific chemistry lesson, but no matter. Enjoy, and review.

Disclaimer: I do not own Charlie Bone.

* * *

**getting there**

the journey's far from done

the battle's far from won

we are drifting now;

floating dreamlessly in an infinite scarring sky.

really, this is only the beginning.

_--and I was too late for love--_

* * *

It is all dark now, smoky and cloying, wrapping everything in a dense blanket of soft grey wool and rough black lace. The heavens are smeared ebony charcoal and splattered silvery teardrops, marring the purity of the once-rosy sky. Everything stops as the world slows down at last, sighing itself into release, turning over to lie on its stomach and breathing deeper and deeper until it all just fades away. Look closer, however, and you will see the hidden people, scurrying over and under, preferring the shadows, _awake_ as ever and perhaps even more so. It is life that hits Manfred just so in the night, breathing the stolen strength of days into his being, rousing him to what _is_ and what _is not_.

He knows too much now.

* * *

And Zelda sleeps, her mind a strange aura of black asphalt and white painted lines. Scraps of thoughts skitter across the pavement, creating ripples in an otherwise tranquil pond. It is all silent; the sound is almost ringing in her ears. She is unconscious, and blissfully so.

And suddenly, it is—it is the morning. Light steals beneath her eyelids, searing her vision and causing her to blink furiously. The sunlight is scintillating, like diamonds, dazzlingly bright and so very painful. She squeezes her eyes shut, scrunching her nose, covering her face with her hands. The action yields no relief, and isn't helped along by the smoggy, choking texture of the air. It is stagnant and chilly, and she knows that although the temperature will rise considerably throughout the day, the humidity will stay the same.

_Summer, _Zelda thinks, _is the worst of seasons. Not only for the bruising heat, but for the ever-present twinge of sadness. _It is stuck in her throat now like a lump of tears refusing to melt. She tries to swallow.

It won't go down.

* * *

Swaddled deep within an amethyst cocoon, Asa dreams that he is a butterfly. He is curled under himself, his tailbone bending like so many scarlet vertebrae, twisting round and round into a solid spiral that forms his long and skinny body. His wings are pressed tight against his back, frosted with chalk dust, hidden by secrets. The cocoon cracks suddenly into a gazillion fragments, scattering into frothy shreds to lie against the frozen ground. And he flies, sweeping and soaring on a twirling silver breeze, his jewel colored wings translucent, like glass. He looks through them and everything is tinted, reds upon greens upon blues upon purples upon magentas upon—

And the sunlight breaks the fancy dream-world, thrusting Asa back into reality, into the tiny backseat of Zelda's father's truck. It is far too small for his long legs, too small even to stretch. He yawns tiredly.

For the first time in a long time, Asa wishes hard to hell that he could brush his teeth.

* * *

It is six thirty. Manfred is slumped over the wheel, his black eyes bloodshot. He is so impossibly tired but seems frozen into position; he cannot relax his rigid grip on the steering wheel or the pressure of his foot on the pedals. Zelda prods him gently. He forces himself to turn and look at her. Her long black hair is rebellious from being slept on, curling sloppily in a blur about her head. Her green eyes gleam with both life and innocence; he envies her the night of sleep she got. She is beautiful, he thinks, and marvels at how she can be so this early in the morning.

"Would you like to stop?" she whispers.

Manfred, finally able to move, thrusts his shoulders back in as much of a stretch as he can manage. "Why are we whispering?" His words are irritated, griping. Zelda wants to laugh but knows she shouldn't.

"Because Asa's still asleep." There is a groan from the backseat. Zelda's gaze slides upward, a smile playing round the corners of her mouth. "Or, at least he was," she amends.

"What time is it?" Asa mumbles. Zelda looks back at him, smirking at his over-long legs, which touch the window and still sport sizable bends at the knees. His face and chest are covered with a purple cape; tufts of his red hair poke out like flames to graze the opposite window. Zelda impulsively plucks the cape off him. "Owwwww, Zel, what's your problem!" Asa squints as the watery sunlight hits him, pressing his hands to his eyes.

"Look at the clock," Zelda tells him.

Asa does. "Six thirty? SIX THIRTY?! What on earth did you wake me up for?"

"I didn't wake you up, Asa. Don't tell me you weren't already awake long before we started talking."

"So what if I was awake! I could have gone back to sleep, y'know!"

"Can you shut up?" Manfred yawns. "I'm trying to concentrate on the road." They are still on the highway, surprisingly convoyed by several other cars. At this hour, Zelda would have expected to be the only car on the road. They are in that in-between place when it is not quite night and not quite dawn—_the opposite of twilight. _Smoky blue tinges the horizon; trees bare and hardened as stone frame the widening sky.

"I'm hungry," says Asa after a failed few moments.

"I don't give a damn," Manfred says tiredly, without any of the usual vigor that usually accompanies his curses.

"So am I," Zelda adds.

"Guess what? I still don't give a damn," Manfred replies.

"Well, aren't you a fucking ray of sunshine," Asa grumbles.

"We're not stopping," Manfred says stubbornly while curving sharply around a bend in the road, "until we get there. Got it?"

Zelda cranes her neck to see the nearest road sign and then consults the map, quickly calculating the miles in her head. "Manfred, we're still over four hundred miles away. We'll have to stop sooner or later for gas anyways. I vote we stop."

"I second the motion," Asa pipes up.

"This isn't a democracy!" Manfred growls.

"Aren't you hungry?"

Zelda's question takes Manfred by surprise, mainly because he hadn't thought about it since the night before. He decides to tell the truth. "Yes."

"Then let's eat!" Asa cries rather desperately.

"You can get some coffee," Zelda reminds, trying to ignore the ache in her stomach that is simply _begging _for coffee.

"Alright," Manfred grumbles, turning into the next exit and straight into a small town whose too-convivial sign proclaims: _Welcome to East Liverpool! _

Only Manfred notices the fine print underneath which reads: _Population: 137. _

Clearly, it was going to be a very bad day.

* * *

"Hello?" The telephone wires are old; the voice rusty. Harold Bloor can hardly identify the voice on the other line.

"What's this?"

"I'm calling to inform you about some runaways."

The man on the other end sighs. "And you want me to help you catch them?"

"Precisely."

"What's in it for me?" The voice is scratched rough until the breaking point, sounding terrified and alone and so, so, hungry. Harold shakes hard before beginning his customary round of bartering.

Minutes later, the phone is hung up. Harold sighs in satisfaction, trying to ignore the eerie buzz of the dial tone on the other end.

Nobody at all.

* * *

"I don't like this," Manfred mutters around a mouthful of French toast.

"Then why are you eating it?" Zelda inquires. She leans back against the purple vinyl booth, sipping a mug of black coffee.

"Because I spent money on it. And what's the point of spending money on something and then deciding not to eat it?"

Zelda's brows knit together in apparent irritation and she closes her eyes. "You are insane. It's not like we don't already have more money than we know what to do with."

"With a check we haven't cashed yet," Manfred says darkly, viciously stabbing a bite of fried bread over and over until it is reduced to a pile of mush.

"We can cash it," Zelda says, "as soon as we finish eating." The three are in a shabby restaurant, aptly named _The One Horse Diner—_for, Zelda thinks, it truly is a one horse town. East Liverpool boasts nothing but _The One Horse, _a small convenience store-slash-gas station called _Marbella's, _and a dingy building whose sign reads: _First Church Bank. _It is utterly surreal to find oneself in a place like this, especially when the walls of said diner were painted a washed out chartreuse and overlaid with thousands upon thousands of yellowed newspaper clippings featuring The Beatles.

Zelda thinks to herself that she really _hates _Ringo.

Manfred looks sickened by the tasteless décor, particularly a certain dusty pink crystal chandelier that hangs above their table, swaying lazily and in immediate danger of falling. "These seats are greasy," Asa remarks.

"I don't doubt it," Manfred growls, chewing furiously. "I hate this place and I hate their French toast. We need to leave _immediately." _He stresses the word so vindictively that several people in the diner turn to gape at them. Zelda closes her eyes again and draws what is supposed to be a calming breath.

"I think we should start a food fight," Asa comments next. Manfred's eyes light up.

"Like in third year?"

"No." Zelda runs her fingers through her hair, drawing it up onto the top of her head in a floppy updo. "Not again. Do you remember your father's face?"

"Yeah, it was one of the most hilarious things I'd ever seen, second only to my egg landing in Lydia's hair," Asa sniggers.

Zelda pauses for a moment, allotting herself a small smile. "But do you remember the trouble we were in? This time, it'd be even worse. I think you can go to jail for that type of stuff, actually. If we want to have a police record, we might as well make it good, like robbing a bank or something." Zelda fishes in the pocket of her blouse and draws up several hairpins, which she uses to secure her knot of black hair.

"You've got something there. We could do that rather easily," Manfred muses. "With your telekinesis, Zel."

"Rapunzel, that would be EPIC," Asa puts in.

"_That's_ not my point. _If _we were to start a food fight, we'd be thrown out on the cement before we had a chance to even turn our heads."

"Exactly_ my_ point," says Manfred coolly. "The sooner we get out of here, the better, as far as I'm concerned."

Zelda makes to retort, but stops up short. "I really can't say I don't agree with you there."

"Ah, here's the waitress," Manfred sighs, ignoring Zelda. The girl stands stretched and poky, her hip jutted out and her frost-brown hair, a dingy sepia streaked with an unnatural blonde that matches the hue of the yellowed newspaper clippings, pulled back in a low ponytail. Zelda's thought blip of the moment says that Manfred is the only person _on earth _who can pull off this hairstyle.

"Anything else I can get for you?" The girl's moony face looks completely bored. Zelda gives her credit for trying her obvious best to be pleasant.

"This," Manfred says curtly, gesturing at his plate of fried bread with a fork, "was utterly horrendous. The entire meal, actually, was sub-par. I'm not paying for it." He leans back in his chair, crossing his arms and looking smug. The girl's face contorts, a confused look in her pale eyes.

Manfred repeats. "I'm not paying for it."

"You're not paying for it?" the girl parrots. Zelda shuts her eyes tight and represses the urge to bang her head against the table at the audacity of Manfred and the stupidity of their hapless waitress.

At Manfred's steely look, the girl stutters, gobsmacked. "Um, I don't think we do that here…"

Manfred doesn't speak again, instead giving the girl a stare so crammed with firepower that even Zelda and Asa are afraid. Her eyes change from sunshine orange slices to bready glazed doughnuts, proverbially, of course. She turns, her plastic tray attached to her skeletal arm, swinging like a pendulum, and plods back behind the counter to the kitchens.

Manfred looks utterly self-satisfied; Zelda, repulsed. "What on earth did you do that for?" she hisses. "It's not as if you could have gotten your money back! They made us pay at the front, remember?" She gives the downstage counter a wide sweeping gesture, as if highlighting the stupidity of it all.

"Their food was terrible. I couldn't eat it. Clearly, someone needed to be informed."

"Why?!"

"In case some other wretched band of weary travelers comes round this dump and makes the mistake of ordering French toast! Whatever else for?"

Zelda's face twists in fury. "I know you, Manfred Bloor, and don't you forget it! I know you, and I know that you were just _dying_ to hypnotize someone past the point of all recognition just to further inflate your already enormous ego! It's not nice to do that, you know? To just… mess with people's emotions like that…" She trails off, too incensed to speak. Taking the complementary paper napkin in her hands, she uses it to punctuate her next sentence.

"When," _Rip! _"Will you learn," _Rip! _"To treat other people like human beings!?" _Rip! Rip! _Flinging the pieces to the ground, she stands, the earth seeming a whirlwind about her feet. "I can't stand that about you!"

Manfred's face is stark white with rage. With a sickening thud, he thrusts his fork into the table, embedding its tines in the brittle wood. He opens his mouth to scream something—anything—back at her, but before he can, a large chunk of plaster falls on his unsuspecting forehead. Asa, who has been quiet all this time, puts down the remaining bit of his seventeenth sausage and gapes up at the ceiling.

The chandelier is not just swaying now, and it's not shivering either. It is positively quaking, as the ceiling around it cracks into innumerable pieces, disaligned and now falling thick and fast in a frenzy of chalky white dust and plaster.

"Oh…" Zelda hurriedly scrambles up from her seat, most of her fury forgotten, while Manfred's jaw clenches alarmingly. He slaps his forehead in consternation, muttering and growling under his breath.

"Damn it," Asa concedes cheerfully, looking back down at his plate in happy defeat and continuing to eat catsup-splattered sausages ravenously.

The color drains from Zelda's face. The fact that she can feel it is rather perturbing, but there is no time to dwell on inklings now. She reaches forth a bony hand and yanks Asa up from the table by his jacket collar. He protests and then relents, pulling his plate of chips and sausages with him.

Then the ceiling seems to cave in, its plaster surface capsizing, falling in on itself as the pink spider of a chandelier speeds toward the table almost faster than the human eye can calculate. Zelda, unthinking, stops the thing in midair and sends it carefully down to rest on top of the pile of plaster that is now the table. The baubles do not even crack, and she relaxes, dusting herself off and releasing her grip on Manfred's wrist.

When the three turn to face the other customers, they are met with a sight that could rival even the oddest of days at Bloor's academy. Their waitress is down on her hands and knees, managing to clear away broken china and gawp with abandon simultaneously, and the entire kitchen staff has crowded into the cramped space behind the cash register to watch the spectacle. Several patrons have stood and walked out, leaving their untouched plates behind, and some have hidden under their booths, fearing an earthquake or a bombing raid.

But most have just sat, frozen at the enormity of the phenomenon, and rapidly blinked their eyes in the direction of the three, as if the action will clear away the definite hallucination. Zelda flushes red, and Manfred, caught off guard, stammers, "Um, sorry, there's nothing to see, really there's not…"

The excited shriek of a child echoes throughout the diner, breaking the haze of shock: "Mummy, that girl is _magic!_"

Asa claps Zelda on the shoulder. "_Nice _one, Zel." She whips around to shush him, but is halted in her tracks by the voice of a man behind the counter, clutching an old-fashioned telephone to his ear, stuttering, "Hello, police?"

Manfred, undaunted, throws a wad of bills onto the table and leads the chase out the door, Zelda and Asa hurrying along after him at top speed. The answering bellow of "_HEY! _Get back here!" only quickens their frantic pace. Once they reach the truck, doors are thrown open and slammed in the same breath as Manfred turns the key in the ignition and turns out of the diner parking lot, only to turn into the bank after Zelda's warning that they _still_ have not cashed the check.

* * *

Thirty uneventful minutes later, Manfred backs out of the spacious gravel lot behind _First Church Bank, _sputtering with rage. Zelda sits beside him, coolly swapping her dusty patent-leather school shoes for a pair of equally scuffed black Converse high-tops. Asa has rolled the back window down and is leaning out, snapping myriad candid shots of East Liverpool. When he spots Marbella's, he turns toward the front and says, "We're going to need snacks for the road. There's a place back there," he jerks his thumb toward the convenience store with a grin, "where we can purchase enough food to sustain us for the rest of the journey."

"No," snaps Manfred. "I am not spending another second standing around being 'helped' by these… _people._" He sneers for the lack of a better word, then adds, "Is is _natural_ for it to take half an hour to cash one measly check?!"

"Of course it doesn't. Haven't you two noticed," Zelda asks, her green eyes flashing at both of them, "that we're not in the most stable of situations? We've got ourselves a predicament here, boys. We're in trouble. That old bank teller didn't spend twenty minutes in his back room checking his pate in the mirror! He must've been on the phone, don't you see?"

The other two stare at her for an instant, transfixed. Manfred drums his fingers on the steering wheel and turns into Marbella's with a heavy sigh. "What do you propose we do? I don't think I could manage wiping everyone in this whole town, and even if I could, it'd take hours."

"You would've been able to do that last October," Asa blurts before he can stop himself. Manfred glares at him, but Asa frowns and folds his arms, stubborn. "Face it. Your powers are getting weaker. And from the looks of it, there's not much you can do to stop it."

"I am _not_… you have no idea what you're talking about! Do you think, even for one second, that I would let my endowment slip away from me? You don't even _know_ what I can do. And if you don't _watch_ it," he snaps, his temper blazing in his ebony eyes, "I'll put you under for so long that you won't even remember who you are _if_ I let you out again."

Manfred parks the car and lets it idle, eager to win the argument. Zelda's glance darts from one to the other, a sharp stab of panic in her chest.

"Oh? And how's that? Tolly got out easy enough, she did," Asa shoots back. Manfred, ever volatile, gets ready to retort, but Asa isn't finished. "Besides, why didn't you tell us your powers have been weakening? I thought we were supposed to be _best-friends-forever. _Or was I wrong?" Asa shrugs, scowling. "If you can't trust us with your secrets, Manfred, who can you trust?"

"Shut your trap, _Pike,_" Manfred snarls, the brimstone dripping from his every word.

"What right have you to order me around, _Bloor?_" Asa growls angrily, then smirks. "You've got it all, haven't you? You just love putting on airs—_'Oh, there's no need for __**me **__to pass my exams, I've got a job all ready for me when I graduate.' _How long is it going to take for you to figure out that we're the only two people in this world who give a _shit_ about what happens to you? And still you treat us like two of your recyclable puppets, only useful to use for getting what _you_ want. _'Asa, you homo freak, why haven't you got a date for the dance?' 'Oh, Zelda, haven't I told you that I'm practically in an __**arranged**__… __**marriage**__?'" _

The last two words are choked out with such contempt that Zelda whirls, her hands clawing near-frantically at Manfred's collar. "_What-have-you-been-keeping-from-me_?" she snarls, the hot scarlet wrath behind her eyelids unbearable. "And if I find out that you _ever_ said something like that to Asa, I'll tear you limb from limb!"

Asa smiles halfheartedly. "No, actually he didn't, Rapunzel. But he's catered to those god-awful rumors—Asa Pike has _never _had a girl, save for that endowed baby prostitute, so he _must _have a thing for guys, and he _has _to be pining away for his ass of a best mate!" Manfred gasps, trying to apologize, but Asa shuts him up effectively with a glance.

"You've never heard that one, have you?" Asa licks his lips, pointed canines gleaming. "Pity."

"Asa, I swear I'm sorry, I would _never _say a thing like that, _ever. _You _know _me, alright?" Manfred's face is pleading.

"Yeah? I _know _you? Pitiful, Freddy." At the sound of his mother's nickname for him, Manfred almost shuts down completely. Asa grins vindictively. "So tell me. What's up with you? What's up with Manfred Bloor, the overgrown brat of the academy?" Manfred flinches and so does Zelda; it is hard to hear such painful truths. Asa's jealousy for his friend is almost too much at this point; for him, to have the upper hand is glorious. "Do you _miss_ your _mum?_"

"YOU… YOU _BASTARD!_" Manfred lunges toward the backseat, hands grasping for Asa's throat, but Zelda hauls him back just as quickly.

"_None of that!_ Do you honestly think that's going to solve anything?! Now! Manfred, apologize to Asa. He's right, your powers have been getting weaker. You don't have any right to go off at him like that!" Manfred lets out a frenzied howl of pain and drops his head in his hands, muscles tightening at Zelda's hand squeezing his shoulder consolingly.

"Asa…I'm sorry. Just…please! You knew I was already mad! I guess I just…let myself _go,_ don't I?"

"You can say that again," Asa mutters.

Manfred ignores him, grinning ruefully at them both, and Zelda leans over him, draping her arm across his shoulders, then taking Asa's hand.

He makes to pull away, but she only tightens her grip. "And Asa? God, when you're in such a shit, please do _not _take it out by screaming at him." She sighs regretfully. "I guess we've had it coming for a long time, haven't we? All these secrets, we've just been _keeping _them, locked away inside!" Zelda looks up, dragging her scrawny wrist harshly across her curiously wet eyes. She sniffs. "We can't go on like this! We have to tell each other, really!"

"Sorry," Asa grumbles. Manfred looks ashamed; Zelda, satisfied and shaky.

"Now. Manfred, either you tell me _right now _whatever it is you've been hiding, or I will make the rest of this summer _hell _for you." Manfred blanches at Zelda's words.

"Zel, I will tell you, I promise! It's my father's plan, nothing to do with me. Just… wait, wait till tonight, will you? When everything's… calmed down."

Zelda nods pensively. "Yes, I suppose this will just escalate if we get _this _bit out now," she murmurs knowingly. "But you've got to _promise _me, promise that this is just another one of your father's sad attempts…nothing real, alright?"

"Promise. I promise you with every bit of me that I'm no one else but yours."

Zelda can't help smiling at his words, but knows that Asa is still hovering somewhere around a simmer. "A, tell me. What's eating you?"

Manfred's lips twitch.

"_Eating me?!_ Zel, what the _hell _does that even mean?" Asa bursts out. Zelda smiles, biting her lip, then Manfred laughs, and by and by, the other two join in. Soon they are all three doubled over, and Zelda holds her side 'cause it hurts, drinking in the golden sunshine of Manfred's laugh.

* * *

Zelda hastens to make an outburst of "Are you using your heads? If we traipse all over the United Kingdom in these getups," here she pauses and gesticulates at her Bloor's academy uniform, "we might as well pin sign to our fronts saying, 'Oh look, I'm a freak escaped from the freak school, arrest me!'"

Asa wants to laugh, but knows at the same time that Zelda is characteristically right on target. He and Manfred unzip suitcases and dig about for clean clothes, upsetting every other bit of fabric they touch. The boys speed through the changing of clothes and lounge, dawdling, next to the candy counter, but Zelda takes much longer.

Inside the stale air of the tiny women's restroom, Zelda swaps her uniform for a rather short green twill skirt, a clingy white t shirt, and an eggplant purple cardigan, discarding her thick black stockings in the process. She makes for the door after washing up, but halts at the horrible thudding sound coming from the opposite wall. It is near-choreographed, insistent—maybe _human._ Trembling lightly, she forces herself back to the mirror and presses her ear to the small stretch of wall beside it.

It only takes her a few moments to be sure: someone is trapped in there, and she doesn't like to imagine who—or why. In a split second, she decides to investigate. If she found anything, perhaps—no, she _definitely _could help.

Zelda doesn't like to think about the excuses she gave back at Bloor's for _not _helping those poor kids, but she swears to herself that if she finds the prisoner in Marbella's, she will do everything in her power to free him.

Quickly opening the door and shutting it softly behind her, she creeps out the door and slips in the men's restroom. Manfred and Asa don't notice; the former is glancing right and left for her and the latter is horsing around, trying to balance a peppermint on his nose.

No one is in the men's room; Zelda is sure of this, though she checks every stall. She then remembers the back door, and creeps stealthily through it like a pro. She feels unnecessarily proud of herself when she reaches the outside and almost pumps her fist in the air in victory. This reminds her of eleven-year-old summer days at the academy, stalking imaginary villains and eavesdropping on entirely pointless conversations (at eleven, who really _cared _about Paton Yewbeam's persistent attempts to find his brother-in-law or whether the Weedons were still _happily _married?). A shiver goes down her spine when she sees the metal door adjacent to the one she's just came out of, and realizes due to the horrid sounds of human turmoil emanating from it, that this is no silly first form secret agent game.

This is real.

* * *

Manfred sighs and checks his watch for the millionth time as Asa plucks bright packages of sweets from the store counters, tossing them into his backpack, which he is using as a shopping basket.

"Let's see, I know Zelda likes these Swedish fish things… hey, does she like the red ones or the every-flavor?"

"Only the red. She won't eat the other ones," Manfred answers gloomily.

"Okay. And we definitely need some pretzels, some Oreos, salt-and-vinegar chips…" Asa's voice trails off as he dumps every item mentioned into his pseudo-basket. "And some malted milk balls, um, some cheese crackers…wait, what are macaroons?"

"Italian meringue. They're good."

"Oh." Asa grabs a package and stuffs it into his brimming backpack, followed by some half-price sour cream glazed doughnuts. "Do you want some black licorice?"

Manfred's eyes gleam. "Definitely. Listen, Asa—"

But Asa has already moseyed his way over to the refrigerated drink section. After a long and selective examination, he comes back laden with cranberry juice and several glass bottles of neon-colored soda.

Manfred wrinkles his nose. "Don't you think we'll need, oh, say, _water?_"

Asa shakes his head. "Water is _free. _We can get it anywhere! And I've already got some instant coffee for our resident addict, so I think we're set."

Manfred shrugs in answer, then heaves a gusty sigh, resisting the urge to tap his foot. He clears his throat, readying some pointless interlude, then chucks it and chooses to be blunt. "What the _hell_ do you suppose Zelda's doing?"

"Beats me. Don't worry, Zel can take care of herself. Besides, aren't girls _supposed _to be all concerned with their appearances? Waiting for her to get ready for the dance, remember, was like waiting for grass to grow."

Shaking his head, Manfred says, "But she never takes this long on a regular day! There's got to be something up, I'm thinking we should investigate."

"No, let her take her time. She's been all wonky today; it's probably that she's just tired. I mean, she's been saying weird stuff—stuff no Zelda would say."

Manfred raises an eyebrow. "Like?"

"Like 'What's eating you?'" Asa tries not to laugh but fails miserably, and after a while, Manfred joins him.

"Eating you? God…" Manfred shakes with another spasm of laughter. "I can just _picture_ my father saying something like that…"

Asa grins. "Yeah… he uses all of these awkward, outdated expressions. Like the time we were all in the ninth grade and we were awake at 2 a.m.? Remember how we got Zelda to drink all that red pop and she was having such a spaz attack? And then your dad came in when we were all laughing like maniacs and was like, _'Boys, let's bring it down to a dull roar.'_"

"And then we laughed even harder, because he hadn't even bothered to noticethat _Zelda _was there, and then he said," Manfred here drew himself up, stroking his lapel nervously in a spot-on imitation of his father, then yelled, "_WHAT on earth is she_ _doing here_?!" Asa guffawed, then Manfred continued, "He must've thought we were doing _drugs _or drinking shots or something!"

"Nah, we'd get to the alcohol in eleventh," Asa put in. "But _I _always thought that what must've been running through his head was '_Oh no, these kids have been having an illicit orgy behind my back!'"_

Manfred and Asa double over into hysterics, and at that moment, Zelda skitters through the front door with a bang, white-faced and spooked. Manfred swallows his laughter and hastens to her side, but she only grips his hand tight and stands on her tiptoes to whisper in his ear, "I'll tell you when we're outside."

Asa rushes to the counter, dumping the food and drink across it. The woman behind begins to ring it up, smiling in a grandmotherly fashion at all of them.

"How are you young people today?" she asks. Manfred grimaces and Zelda refrains from rolling her eyes.

"Uh, fine, thanks," Asa says, looking perturbed.

The woman's hair is piled in a skyscraping bouffant; her eyeliner looks permanently tattooed on. She sports a typical green shop girl's apron and a nametag. "What are your names?"

Zelda flinches; there is something in the woman's tone that she doesn't like. So she straightens up, looks the woman straight in the eye, and gives her middle name: "I'm Izabel."

Asa stares wide-eyed, but Manfred understands in an instant. "My name's Bartholomew," he says stiffly, giving the name of the grandfather he only knew from stories, then adds, "Pleased to… meet you." At the woman's dimpled smile, he tightens his arm around Zelda, noting her shiver.

"And you?"

Asa doesn't know what to say. "Um, um, I'm…" The first word that pops into his head is _Asa, _and the second is _Asshole. _He shakes his head, feigning a cough into his sleeve, then starts again. "I'm… Le—Letty."

Well. At least it hadn't been a total loss. For the third name that Asa had remembered was his mother's, _Letty _or _Leticia. _

At the startled look of his companions, he coughs again and says, "Short for…Lertram. Yes. Lertram, Lertram the Bad." _Lertram __**the Bad?**__**LERTRAM?**_It was quite unfortunate that his new name bore quite a resemblance to that of Manfred's great-great-great grandfather, but no matter. It was out, and there was nothing anyone could say to negate it. He gave a triumphant stare, then asked, "And you're Marbella, right?"

The woman has almost finished encasing their food in brown paper bags, but pauses, startled. "What gives you that idea?" Her tone is hesitant; the honey in her voice gone.

Asa forces a smile. "Your nametag, look," he says patiently. Four pairs of eyes snap to the metal tag pinned to the apron's breast pocket, which reads _Marbella_ in unmistakable capital letters. Asa exchanges worried glances with Manfred and Zelda, then all three step forward to claim their bags.

"Oh, I forgot," says Asa as they head for the door. "We've lost our map, and we need to know how to get to Carthrow."

Marbella scribbles something on a sheet of yellow paper, then hands it to Asa with a smile. Asa takes it and rushes to the exit without knowing exactly why. They are almost out the door, when—

"You forgot your change," Marbella's cheery voice sounds from inside the store. Zelda forces herself to walk back to the counter and accept the coins from the woman's outstretched hand. Marbella drops them straight, and they slip right through Zelda's shaky fingers. Scrambling to her knees, not daring to use telekinesis, she picks up the coins and shoves them in her pocket, picking up her sack again and rising to meet Marbella's gaze.

"Th-thanks." Zelda swallows hard.

"You're very welcome. And have a nice day, dear."

Zelda stumbles back as the woman's bright blue gaze flashes a steely grey. When she looks again, Marbella's eyes are again the same blue, but this time, there is something very like a leer on the woman's face. Zelda runs out the door without looking back, an uncanny sick feeling in the pit of her stomach.

* * *

"…So I looked all through the men's room, and then…"

"Ooh, badass, Zelda. The men's room? Wow." Asa grins.

The three are clustered together, lounging in the back of the truck. After driving for seven hours, the supply of competent drivers was exhausted when Manfred fell spastically into a fit of slumber, only managing to twitch in annoyance when Zelda attempted to prod him awake. They are mired in the middle of a little wood, driven off the road and parked sleepily by an outcropping of trees.

"So, Zel… what happened next?" Manfred asks, looking up at Zelda, who has become hopelessly lost in thought.

"All right, so I went out the back door, because I figured that there had to be a door out there, because there were no other visible rooms on the inside, right?" She chews her thumb nervously. "And there was. There was this awful sound of struggling coming from inside, and as soon as I tried to use telekinesis to open it, I could tell that it was bolted from the inside. So…" She pauses again, shivering. "And then… then I blasted out a section of the wall, and I looked in… and, and there was _nobody_ there!"

"Ugh," Manfred says, his shoulders coming together in disgust. "That's so bizarre it's almost sickening. You know what? I bet there's someone from the academy tailing us. Zelda was right—we're in trouble."

"Only thing I can think of is switching the license plates," Asa muses. "If they're following us, they'll have the numbers by now."

Manfred nods. "That's true. We should do that as soon as we get to Carthrow."

"By the way, does it usually take this long?" Zelda asks. "I know I haven't been before, but judging by the fact that we've been driving all day, we should be there by now."

"Now that you mention it…" Manfred frowns, his brows coming together. "It only took eleven hours at most when my parents went with me."

"The directions!" Asa cries, pulling them out of his pocket. "See, we have no idea where we are or where we're going… there's gotta be something wrong."

"I didn't like that Marbella woman," Zelda says. "The way she talked, and acted, was unnatural."

"I'll bet she gave us counterfeit directions," Asa growls, grinding his teeth. "The police probably called her…"

Manfred starts, sitting up and upsetting a soda bottle, which spills all down his front. "Do you realize what that means?! If she was contacted by the police, they must have told her to give us the wrong directions, and are lying in wait to ambush us as soon as we get to wherever her instructions lead. Knowing how canny police can be," Manfred winks in jest, "we're probably heading straight for headquarters."

Zelda laughs. "You're right, police aren't that intelligent. If it were an endowed we were up against, though, we'd really be in trouble. But if the police find us, we can always ward them off… I'd say we should forget the whole thing and get some sleep. We can get to Carthrow by finding the sea and following it as far west as needed, and if they _do_ manage to locate us, we'll deal with it then."

"_And,_" she says, sipping her coffee and eyeing Manfred, "I think we have something monumentally important to discuss involving you, me, and most probably your damned father."

"Wha—ah, Zel, you know my father! He's a freak, he doesn't know what he's _on _about, he's—"

"No. Spill."

He massages his temples for a moment, then blurts, "I'm _supposed _to marry a girl called Rosalie Torrid—because she's endowed, and all. My great-grandfather thinks, since it's never been done before in my family, if we were to… _mate," _he breaks off to grimace, "we would end up with some super-human breed of freaks with multiple dosages of powers. Besides, she's very rich. If my father doesn't favor the idea of mutants, he can at least get the added bonus of possibly tripling the Bloor fortune. It's all very stupid, really…"

"What's she endowed with?" asks Asa at the same time that Zelda spits "Is she pretty?"

Manfred shakes his head. "She can do ice, freeze things, stuff like that. If you think about it, we wouldn't get along at all. And Zel— I suppose she's pretty by conventional standards, but she's got this long white-blonde hair and weird blue-violet eyes. Not my cup of tea at all."

Asa snorts, but Zelda presses, "Yes, but have you _met _her?"

"When I was six," Manfred says. "She came for dinner once—all done up in this frilly pink monstrosity of a dress, with her hair all curled, just so—and she threw a fit because there was treacle tart for pudding and _'I prefer strawberry!'_" He switches to a high, whiny falsetto for this last bit, takes a breath, and continues on.

"In the end, her screaming got to me so that I just reached 'cross my mum's lap and pulled out a handful of that long, curly hair. My dad pitched an even bigger fit, Grizelda Bone nearly had a heart attack, and Ezekiel later told me that Rosalie was a lovely girl and that pulling out hair was no way to treat the ladies. It was horrendous."

Zelda giggles and Asa yawns. "Can we go to sleep now? I'm frankly _exhausted._" He yawns, showing off his canines.

Manfred nods at this, then says, "Where are we—"

Before he can finish, Asa cries, "Dibs on the backseat!"

Zelda's green eyes narrow. "Dibs on the _capes._"

"Aw, Zel, that's not fair _at all…_"

"It is and you know it. Hand them over."

Asa climbs to the backseat, and, scowling, pitches a bundle of purple fabric through the back window. It hits Manfred square in the face, and Asa smirks before snapping, "_Good _night," and shutting the window with a bang.

Zelda laughs softly to herself before climbing into Manfred's lap and wrapping her arms round his neck. For a moment, she only clings to him, breathing in the scent of his shirt and sighing happily. Manfred smiles, bemused.

"You're funny, y'know that?"

Zelda looks up at him, still dreamy. "Mm?"

"It's just that you're so prickly most of the time that when I get these sporadic bursts of… affection…" He stops, letting another smile play round his mouth. "I'm pleased, of course, but they always take me by… surprise."

"Knock it off, you tosser. I was enjoying the moment, and you…" Zelda pauses, kissing his mouth softly. She runs her hands through his hair, giving it a tug; he scowls happily at her. "I suppose you make it all the more enjoyable, since you are _you, _after all." She kisses him on the nose, then on the mouth again, and he pulls her closer by employing his hand on her waist.

Zelda pushes him down beside her, pulls back, and smiles at him, her black hair ruffled. "I love you," she says. "I think I love almost everything about you. I love the way you pretend to be stupid at English but are actually smarter than me. I love the way you look at me as if we're the only two people in the world. I love that you can't control that temper of yours, and I love that you can't scare me with it. I love that your hair has blue undertones and mine are more reddish, and your eyes, and oh, your mouth…" She breaks off, kissing him hard.

Manfred smirks when she pulls away. "I don't know how I can even _hope_ to follow a speech like that."

Zelda smirks back. "Don't tell me. _Show _me."

He smiles wickedly, then begins to trail kisses along her collarbone and up her neck, ending by kissing her on the mouth once more.

"Remember, Asa's here…" Zelda reminds calmly as he kisses her neck again.

Manfred sighs heavily and flops down beside Zelda, pulling her closer and burying his nose in her hair. She grasps his hand and feels the knuckle bones with her thumb.

"I really am tired, y'know…" she protests as he attempts to kiss her again, so he merely cradles her close in his arms and holds her until her breathing is slow and measured.

Manfred looks to the sky as she sleeps, and gladly bears the ache of Zelda's sharp shoulder bone against his chest, and wonders if maybe he wishes hard enough, he could see beyond the stars.

* * *

Manfred is woken by a sharp slap on his face. Almost immediately, he snaps up and blinks to lessen the sting of the hazy morning light. When it clears, he finds himself staring two policemen square in the face.

One is large and pink, with a thick brush of a mustache—_I'll call him Slim, _thinks Manfred—and the other is as skinny as a broom—_this one's Porky—_with broom-straw hair to match. Slim frowns and spits out, "You're trespassing on private property, mister. And the owner of the house back there," he jabs a stubby finger at the trees behind him, "has informed us that you are not only infringing on the grounds of…"

"_Yewbeam _castle," Porky supplies helpfully, reading from a crumpled slip of paper. Manfred grits his teeth and tries not to give himself another slap on the face. _Of course! _It had been clear, _too _clear, the entire time. His father must have called Yorath for help, and when the police were alerted about strange happenings in the town of East Liverpool, Yorath had lay in wait for them, and he had been—_Yorath had been Marbella!_ He berates himself over and over for not noticing, and is broken out of his reverie of self-criticism by Slim's bellow:

"_Are _you listening, young man! You and your friends are _runaways _from the law, and now we've caught you. We're here to evict you and cart you off to a place called…" He is at a loss for words once more, and glares sharply at Porky.

Porky starts, stuttering, "Ba-Bloor's Academy for the Gifted."

By this time, Zelda has ceased deluding herself into believing that the voices of the policemen are naught but a mirage, and Asa has rolled down the back window and is watching the exchange with interest.

"Hey, Officer Krupke!" Asa waves cordially. Slim is not amused. With an _ahem! _he begins to read them their rights.

Zelda climbs through the window to sit beside Asa, and puts her mouth up to Manfred's ear, whispering so softly he can scarcely hear: "I'm going to drop that old oak between us and block them in. While they're trying to climb over, jump down and get into the truck."

Manfred nods once, then shouts, "Look!" In a panic, he points at the oak and Zelda does her work. With a deafening thud, the tree sags and falls to the ground, landing on Slim's toe, who gives an enraged roar like the sound of a wounded animal. By this time, Manfred is in the car and Asa has climbed into the back to egg Porky on, who is at the moment chasing them like a madman.

"You can't get us now! C'mon, man, run for it!" Asa taunts gleefully. Manfred revs up the engine, but not quick enough. Porky has grasped the truck door and is holding on with surprising strength.

Asa pounds his fists on Porky's hands as the truck sputters to a start and begins rolling away, but to no avail. A thought occurs to him and he stumbles to his feet—

And suddenly Porky is staring a great grey wolf with fearsome yellow eyes in the muzzle. It opens its terrible maw and seems to flash him a grin before sinking its teeth into his hand. He yells and lets go of the car, and lies in agony with Slim raging in his ear while the truck speeds away in a fog of exhaust.

* * *

The night is perfect; a salty sea breeze warms the night air. Fireflies glow and float about wild rosebushes, and the moon is as full as a silver coin. Zelda throws open the door and twirls about as soon as Manfred parks, laughing and tottering drunkenly on long legs. She needs no words, and only turns, a serene smile on her face, and beckons to Asa and Manfred.

"_Finally!" _Asa cries, wobbling out and prancing up the walk wildly. Manfred comes last, a weary smile on his drawn face, two leather suitcases dangling from his arms.

An air of mystery is about the place; there is something lovely and romantic but haunting about it. The turrets rise up to silhouette the blue velvet sky, spires catching the light of a thousand stars. It is not really a castle but a quaint and enormous Victorian house, perfectly white against the faint black sea. A sprawling porch sags from the front, and an ivy trellis twists up the front to bloom into a flawless amethyst blossom beneath a windowsill. Little marigolds sprout in the windows; a pot by the steps overflows with wisteria. A huge magnolia tree towers over the place, shielding the roof with a decadent canopy of fragrant flowers.

Manfred leads them up the cobblestone walk, his face jubilant, all of his body pulled toward Carthrow. When he reaches the porch first, he turns to his friends and smiles broadly around at them.

"Welcome home."

Asa's breath seizes in his throat, and he focuses keenly on the figures of his two best friends, his eyes blurring with a mixed feeling of misery, love, and freedom.

* * *

Oh thank God. I really thought I would never finish. On a side note, I have nothing written for the chapter four.

The return of James Bond! Zelda. Wow. Reviews!!


End file.
